Your Fierce Love (The Bennett Family)(25)

I swallow in surprise, because I hadn't pegged Blake as the type to talk so openly about this.

"Thank you for being so open. You're not a distraction either, but I'm not expecting anything. I want you to know that."

"What does that mean?"

"That I don't need a label on this. I know I gave a big speech when I  moved in about what I want, but I just need you. No labels."

Neither of us says it out loud, but I strongly suspect that whatever  this is between us will come to a natural end by the time I move out. My  heart crumbles a bit at the thought.

"Anything you want."

Well, that's a dangerous statement to make. What I want is to dote on  him, learn all the things he likes, then do them just to see him happy.  Maybe he could love me, a hopeful voice supplies somewhere in the recess  of my mind. I swallow hard, chasing that silly thought away.

Blake smiles and touches his nose to mine in an Eskimo kiss. "Now, let's get you ready."

I make quick work of packing. After laying out my outfit for the road  and stuffing the bag of toiletries in the suitcase, I zip it up.

"Done?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Now let's get some breakfast into you."

"I don't have anything in my fridge."

"I have some eggs and toast. I'll be right back."

My surprise must have registered on my face because he adds, "Told you I'll take care of you."

He kisses the tip of my nose again, then slips into his jeans and leaves  the apartment. I barely have time to search for a pan and place it on  the stove when he returns, a box of six eggs in one hand, bread in the  other. I reach for the eggs, but he shakes his head.

"I'm making you breakfast."

"You can cook?"

"No, but I make a mean sunny side up."

I laugh. "That's a lifesaving skill right there."

As I watch him cook for me, I can barely contain my happiness. It might  seem a small thing to some, but not to me. I hover around him, under the  guise of helping him-I'm not-but I want to be as close to him as  possible, touch him without being obvious. The kitchen is small, after  all.                       
       
           


///
       

"You either have a problem with calculating the distance, or you're looking for any opportunity to feel me up."

I bat my eyelashes at him. "Guilty."

"Lucky for you, I'm an enabler. Feel me up all you want."

Well, what's a girl to do when she's given free reign? Take advantage  and do so thoroughly. So while Blake busies himself with the eggs-which  take a suspiciously long time, so I think they're going to be burnt to a  crisp when all is said and done-I move my hands over his shoulder  blades, kissing in between, then trace his spine with my mouth.

Then I step back and admire him. What I wouldn't give to snap some  photos of him. I deleted those pics I took when I moved in because I  know enough of the cloud and how the wrong pics could fall into the  wrong hands by mistake (and anyway, they are imprinted on my retinas, no  need for physical evidence).

"Eggs are ready," he announces, snapping me out of my thoughts. I do my  best to school my expression so I don't give away my dirty daydreams.

Of course, Blake catches on. "Where were you just now?"

"Making a to-do list for work."

"You're a terrible liar. You had a pervy look on your face."

"Takes one to know one."

"Exactly. And you cannot out-perv me, Clara. So fess up."

Licking my lips, I try to strategize my next steps. As usual, honesty  seems the best policy. But I also can't help wondering what he'd do to  coax an admission out of me. I decide to find out.

"What if I don't?"

He steps away from the stove, and I peek in the pan. The eggs are not at all burnt. I really need to give him more credit.

When he cages me in against the wall, parting my legs with his knee, kissing up my neck, I barely stifle a laugh.

He pulls back. "What?

"I knew you'd do this. Unleash your seductive techniques on me to coax  out a confession. See? I can out-perv you," I declare proudly, after  which I proceed to tell him everything.

***

At three o'clock sharp, we leave the house. Blake carries my suitcase to  the car, placing it safely in the trunk while I type the destination  address in the navigation system. I fight a yawn, dreading the trip. I  had two coffees already with my breakfast, but I'm still tired. I  dislike driving in the dark, but the sun will rise in two hours.

"You should've slept tonight," Blake says, startling me. I didn't see  him join me. He's leaning against the open door, scrutinizing me. I  fight harder to stifle a yawn.

"Nah, I'll stop on the road to buy another coffee. I'll manage to keep my eyes open until then."

"Don't you have an anti-sleep alarm? It makes loud noises when you veer off your track."

I've never heard of such a thing. Men and cars.

"Nope."

"I'm buying you one."

"You will do no such thing."

"I wasn't asking." He glares at me.

I glare back, unable to decide if he's being obnoxious or endearing.  Upon seeing his glare melt into a concerned expression, I decide on the  latter. He lowers himself until he's on my level and kisses me with  unexpected heat. I wasn't aware you could infuse so much passion into a  short kiss, but I have to give it to Blake-he's the master of passion no  matter if he has to beguile me with it in small or large doses. The  kiss jolts me awake. Maybe I should just ask him to join me, kiss me  from time to time. That would guarantee I'll be awake, no coffee needed.

"Text me when you stop for gas and then when you arrive, so I know you're safe."

"You'll be sleeping."

"No, I won't. I'll be worrying."

I melt. I can't help it. Is it wrong that I like having someone worrying  about me? If I'm wrong, I don't want to be right. I like being doted  on, and that is exactly what he's doing. I can't believe this is my  life. However long this lasts, I'm determined to enjoy every minute of  it.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Clara



"Let's call it a day, everyone!"

I haven't heard sweeter words in my life. It's been a long, long day,  and I can't wait to crawl in my bed and sleep for twenty-four hours  straight. Just kidding. I can only get in six hours of sleep before the  mayhem begins again tomorrow.

I'm about to leave the set to head to the hotel when Quentin catches up to me.

"Clara! Have you seen the ratings?" he asks.

"Yes," I say proudly. "We ticked up nicely."

"Have you seen the jump S&S had?"

Oh snap. I know what's coming. S&S is a show on a rival network, and they've been featured on, wait for it-                       
       
           


///
       

"Our Picks featured them the week before. Talked again to Shepperd. All  he wants is a rumor. He can work with that on We See You. In exchange,  he'll shoo us in on Our Picks. He's hoping on some dirt on Sebastian  Bennett-cheating would be best-but dirt on any of them will do."

I rub my hands down my face, itching to curl my hands around his thick neck, give him a good shake.

Quentin is a bully, and if there is one thing I know, it's that bullies  only pull back when they feel the other party is more powerful. They  pounce on the weak. Obviously though, since he's my boss, I can't give  him a piece of my mind, but I can make my values clear.

"Quentin, you're barking up the wrong tree. Stop with this madness. This  is not who I am. I don't sell people out for ratings, and I never will.  Frankly, I'm not comfortable with-"

"Don't care what you're comfortable with. All I care about is ratings. You should too, if you know what's good for you."

One of the cameramen walks up to him, asking about a take, and I leave,  wondering if owning an apartment really is worth having this imbecile  breathe down my neck every day.

I trudge away to the hotel, feeling like I'm sleepwalking. This is the  second day on the L.A. set, but I haven't had time to sleep in, and the  night I spent awake with Blake is catching up to me.

My hotel room is very small and only contains the basics, but I spend  such a short time inside that it doesn't bother me. I discard my  clothes, hop in the shower, then crawl into bed, all in less than ten  minutes. Only when my head hits the pillow do I register something. I  bolt upright in bed, turning on the light. My eyes zero in on the  package lying on the small table next to the door.

That's when I remember that one of the assistants told me I'd received a  package today and the receptionist brought it to my room. I hadn't been  paying attention because I was focusing on an e-mail, and then I forgot  altogether. Though I desperately need the sleep, there's no way I'll  wait until tomorrow to open it.

I love receiving things, always feel like a kid on Christmas morning, so  I venture out of the bed, shuddering. I'm naked, and it's chilly, so I  take the package back to bed. There's no information as to who sent it,  but that doesn't dampen my excitement in the slightest. I unpack with as  much euphoria as Will attacked his presents on his birthday. Inside I  discover a... gadget? Something electronic for sure. I pick up the  accompanying handbook and my face cracks into a grin. An anti-sleep  system for my car.