Your Fierce Love (The Bennett Family 7)

Blake rises to his feet and holds out his hand for me. I gladly accept the help because climbing out of a beanbag is serious business, especially after half a bottle of wine. I’m as unsteady on my feet as a toddler. But the moment my hand touches Blake’s, a bolt of heat singes me. It travels through my limbs, making my toes curl and my nipples tighten. In the span of a few seconds, my body has gone from relaxed to wound up. Blake hauls me up so close our chests touch. Our noses are dangerously close too.

The proxi

mity makes me light-headed. The wine isn’t helping either. I pull my head back a notch so I can see Blake better. I make the mistake of looking him directly in the eyes. The intensity in them is overwhelming. I’ve been on the receiving end of his hot looks before, but this is different. There isn’t just lust here, but downright hunger. A little too late, I realize it’s probably because he can feel the tight peaks of my breasts pressing against him. He drops one hand to my waist, and his fingers are pressing against my flesh possessively. I become aware of every single point of contact—there are far too many.

We’re close enough that I can sniff the scent of his shower gel. Crisp. Masculine. My mind immediately supplies images of Blake in the shower, rubbing gel on himself. I imagine he does that job thoroughly, not leaving out even one morsel of skin. I wonder how he looks with only a towel wrapped around himself. Now that we’re neighbors, there’s a distinct possibility I might see him in that scenario, especially with the shared balcony and everything. Shit, my Peeping Tom tendencies are getting out of hand.

I try to whip my thoughts into shape, but they’re jumbled together and become more jumbled still when I feel Blake’s hot breath on the lobe of my ear, then the tip of his nose on my cheek. When the corner of our lips touch, he presses his fingers into my sides, a low sound reverberating in his throat.

“Blake, I...”

“You look so kissable right now, Clara.”

His voice is low and rough—his bedroom voice. I haven’t heard it before. It’s sexy and inviting, just like the rest of him. Great. I won’t be able to unhear it.

I draw in a sharp breath. Wanting to diffuse tension, I try to joke, but under the influence of the wine and his intoxicating proximity, the best I can come up with is, “So I usually don’t? Careful, Bennett, I take offense easy after drinking wine.”

“Always do. First time I saw you, I wanted to kiss you.”

“You did?”

“You have no idea how much you affect me, do you?”

Blake is looking down at me with so much intensity my knees nearly buckle. He skims his thumb along my jawline, moving to my earlobe, rubbing it gently between his thumb and forefinger. I clench my thighs together almost involuntarily. My ear is not a sweet spot. It really isn’t. But I have a hunch Blake can turn any body part into a sweet spot.

“Blake...I...oh God, how did I end up in your arms?” I’d blame the wine, but that would make me a hypocrite.

“Because you can’t help this either. I can’t stop thinking about you, Clara. When I’m working, when I’m at home. You’ve been on my mind since we met, and I thought I could pull it off, living next to you and not wanting to make you mine, but now I know I won’t.”

I can’t wrap my mind around what he’s saying, but I hang onto his every word, melting against him.

“I want to kiss you, all night long. Just kiss you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Why not?”

“You know why. I care too much about your family and—”

“You want safe and—what was that word? Nonargumentative. Don’t think anyone ever used those words to describe me.” Leaning even closer, he adds in a low baritone, “But you want this—us—even more.” He cups my face, his thumb pressing on my lips, his fingers splayed on my cheek and jaw. A current races through me, white-hot and intense. When he drags his thumb from one corner of my mouth to the other, my hips shift, my entire body arches. Blake is pulling me to him like a magnet.

“God, you’re intense,” I mutter.

“You have no idea.” To my relief, he steps back, and after picking up the glasses and bottle, we head inside. “I’m going to go now, before we end up in kissing distance again.”

“Blake—”

He holds up his hand. “I know what you said, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting what I want.”

There’s no mistaking his meaning. He wants me.

“You want this too. I know you do, and you know it too. But you won’t be able to resist. I’ll make sure of it.”

I walk him to the door in silence. When we reach it, he kisses the tip of my nose and then lets himself out. Rooted to the spot, I’m still reeling from the intensity of it all.

***

Blake