"You will love it."
We both let out a breath of relief as Daniel heads in our direction. That should make the unloading easier. He kisses both of us on the cheeks, then gapes at the car.
"Summer, the party's for one three-year-old, not ten," Daniel remarks, shaking his head. Summer grins proudly. She requested to be in charge of the party, and this is the result.
"I don't do anything half-assed. Can some of the other boys come out and help?"
Judging by the number of cars in the parking lot, everyone's here already.
"Let's take what we can inside, and I'll come back out with reinforcements. I assumed I'd be enough."
"Well, that was just silly," Summer exclaims, shaking her head mockingly.
Daniel carries one of the heavier boxes, and Summer and I focus on the bags in the back seat.
I soak in everything as we walk the hundred feet or so from the car to the house. The ranch sits on a decent piece of land with dahlias blooming seemingly everywhere in a multitude of shades of pink, like one enormous painting. This is a terrific Saturday. It's barely ten o'clock, and we have the entire day ahead of us. Noises reach us as we approach the house: the chatter of adults, the laughter of kids. The front door is open and Summer hurries inside, placing the bags on the floor, and then we both head along the corridor, following the noises.
When we reach the living room, which opens to the back patio through a large door, I grin at the mayhem. Everyone's here: Sebastian with Ava and their two sons, Pippa and her brood, Logan with Nadine and their son. They're outside on the patio, chatting and chasing toddlers. I also hear Mr. and Mrs. Bennett (who have asked me numerous times to simply call them Richard and Jenna, but I'm still working on that), their voices coming in from outside, but they're out of sight.
Christopher and Max and their wives, Victoria and Emilia, are inside, sitting comfortably on the large couches. Victoria, who is five months pregnant, is currently batting her eyelashes at Christopher while pointing at her belly, and I can't help wondering what she's asking him. It must be surreal for another man to look exactly like your husband. Thank God, Daniel and Blake are not identical twins like Christopher and Max. One Blake is enough.
///
Speaking of Blake, where is he?
He drove here with his parents, which was how I ended up traveling with Summer instead of him. I haven't seen him in all of four hours. How can I miss him already? He's not mine to miss; I really should remember that.
"Summer's packed ten parties' worth of supplies in her car. I need help unloading," Daniel announces.
Max and Christopher immediately follow Daniel out. Still no Blake.
"You're here," Pippa exclaims, entering the house. "Come on. Let's show you to your rooms."
Is it my imagination, or are Pippa and Summer exchanging dangerous glances? I try not to read too much into it as I follow the girls down another corridor lined with doors on either side.
Summer opens one such door, mutters "mine," throwing in her small backpack, then resumes her walk. We stop right at the end of the corridor.
"Here's your room," Pippa announces.
Stepping inside, I smile. The room is small and quaint, with a double bed taking up most of the space and a small vanity table in one corner. I notice two doors on the wall opposite the bed. One leads to the bathroom, I assume. The other one could be a connecting door.
I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear a familiar voice behind me.
"What d'you know? We're neighbors again."
I swirl around to find Blake leaning against the doorframe, smiling broadly. He's wearing slacks and a simple gray T-shirt, looking as irresistible as always. I try not to focus on the way the sleeves stretch over his muscle-laced arms, or how he seems to fill the entire space. He oozes testosterone, every inch of him masculine through and through.
"You're in the room next door?" I ask unnecessarily.
"Yep. Had a flat tire on the way. When I arrived, only these two rooms were empty. Aside from the en suite, but that belongs to Mom and Dad."
Coincidence? I think not. I wonder which of the sisters came up with the idea to put us in adjacent rooms. My money's on Pippa, because Summer was with me in the car. But when I turn, I catch Summer schooling her expression, trying to tone down her smug grin. Pippa nods at her appreciatively. There's my answer. My gaze meets Blake's, and we both burst out laughing. His sisters look at us startled.
"You two are not subtle at all," I inform them.
"We weren't trying to be subtle," Summer comments. "Anyone else feel the sparks in the air? No? No one? Just me?" Pippa elbows her conspiratorially.
"Just so we know," Blake chimes in, "any other things we should look out for? Maybe Clara's shower's not working, and she'll have to use mine?"
I blush at the mention of the shower. Blake catches my eye, smiling and winking. We didn't speak about what happened in our separate showers after the outing to the festival, but the tension between us has been off the charts since, and we both know why.
Summer juts her chin out, narrowing her eyes. "No, even though that would have been a great idea. Come on, Pippa. Let's get started with the decorations for the party."
With that, the two plotters head toward the door. Blake steps back, allowing them out, but then, instead of leaving too, he lingers in the doorframe.
"Want a tour of the ranch?"
"I'm helping with decorations," I answer quickly.
"It won't take long. This place isn't so big."
Truth be told, I do want a tour. This is a part of Bennett history I'd love to know more about. Besides, being with Blake in an open space is safe. At least safer than being inside here, in this small room where our hunger for each other seems to fill the entire space.
"Sure."
"Want to change first?"
"Nah, I'm comfortable like this. Let's go."
We walk side by side in the corridor.
"What are you doing?" Blake asks.
In my haste to keep my distance from him, I didn't realize I look a bit ridiculous, not to mention obvious because I'm nearly brushing the wall with my shoulder.
Swallowing, I keep my tone even. "Keeping my distance from you. I'm thinking three feet should be enough."
Blake steps right in front of me, forcing me to stop in my tracks.
"Babe, fair warning. Three hundred feet wouldn't be enough."
My cheeks heat, and I try to focus on some part of Blake that won't turn my knees to mush. I try the eyes, but they're too molten and intense.
Lips-too full.
Shoulders and chest-won't even go there. Eventually, I focus on my own hands, which are tugging at the hem of my shirt, even though it's impolite not to look at people when you talk to them.
///
Clearly whoever made up that rule has never been in the shoes of a woman trying to resist a very hot and determined man. Especially not one hungering for his touch and affection.
"Don't call me that. I'm not your babe."
"Yet."
Some men would sound over-the-top saying that, but Blake pulls it off and then some. And here's the thing. If I dropped the matter and walked past him, he'd drop it too, at least for now. I do the exact opposite.
"Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?"
I know that if I push hard enough, if I challenge him hard enough, he'll break and burn, making me burn with him. I shouldn't want that, but I can't help wondering: if one kiss held so much heat, what would he do if I surrendered to him?
Blake's eyes snap fire. "I had one taste of you, and it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. It wasn't enough for you either. Don't pretend it was." He leans in to me, bringing his lips to my ear. "You're betting on my self-restraint. You might lose."
I rise on my toes, bringing my mouth to his ear. "Here's where you're wrong. I'm betting on your lack of it. Even though I shouldn't."
His sharp intake of breath sends an arrow of heat right to my center. Sometime during this conversation, I've moved from gripping the hem of my shirt to fisting the hem of his. You're really winning this, Clara. Crap, I'm supposed to put a bucket of ice water on that fire lighting him up from within, not gasoline. I quickly drop my hands, sighing.
Blake steps back, looking at me as if he's seeing me for the first time. I can't believe I managed to actually catch him off guard. I only succeeded at the small price of giving myself away. Oh well, I can't even bring myself to be sorry. You know you're headed down a dangerous path when you can't even tell your own priorities. With a chuckle, he gestures for me to walk in front of him, which I do, keeping a safe distance.