Your Fierce Love (The Bennett Family 7)

“Oh! Okay.”

His voice is pure seduction, and combined with the pressure of his thumb on my mouth, my body tightens, my nipples peaking under my bra. This man has the most dangerous effect on me. He seems to realize what he’s doing to me and drops his hand, opening the car door for me. Thank heavens for small mercies.

“See you tomorrow evening, then.”

***

I don’t see Blake on Sunday because the mayhem at the studio continues. At noon, it appears everything is sorted out, so we all go home. But I barely have time to nap for a few hours before George informs me the set foundation caved in completely, and we’re back to square one. The entire technical team plus Quentin and I spend the night at the studio, and all of Monday. The set isn’t salvageable.

We need to rebuild its big parts, which will take the entire week. Since we can’t pause shooting for that long, Quentin and I arranged for shooting to temporarily move to another of the studio’s sets, which is now empty because that show is on break.

So tomorrow morning, we’re all driving out to L.A., and will stay there for the week.

I drive home in a state that resembles drunkenness, parking the car in my usual spot. But then I see Blake’s car, and adrenaline suddenly spikes my blood. He must be inside the bar tonight. He usually is on Mondays. I have not memorized his schedule, just...kept in mind some facts, purely for neighborly reasons. Ah, who am I kidding, I totally memorized his schedule.

So even though I’m dead tired, instead of going up to the apartment and sleeping like the dead, I head inside the bar. I want to see him, even if it’s just for a few minutes to say hi.

To my utter shock, the place is packed. Mondays are usually laid-back. The second shock comes when I see Blake behind the counter alone. This can’t be good. He usually has two bartenders on Monday. I knew my stalker tendencies would come in handy at some of point. Scratch that. Observant! That’s it. I’m observant, not a stalker.

I watch him silently, amazed by his speed. Of course, the line is something like Sisyphus’s chore. No matter how fast Blake is, the line isn’t getting shorter because new customers line up constantly. I elbow my way through the crowd, and instead of lining up, I wedge myself between two men who are directly in front of Blake, waiting for their drinks. They shoot daggers with their eyes at me. Ask me if I care.

“Hey, why are you alone tonight?” I ask, leaning slightly across the counter so the other patrons can’t hear me.

“Clara, hey! Didn’t see you. Sent both my bartenders home an hour ago. They were coming down with some bug.”

“Oh.”

“And I have a full house tonight.” He smiles as he hands a beer to one of the customers, but I’ve been observing Blake for long enough to know when he means a smile or when it’s just a pleasantry. This is the latter. I have the sudden urge to make him laugh, or hug or kiss him, but it’s not my place. Blake isn’t mine, despite what happened on Saturday morning between us at the ranch. I don’t want to raise my hopes that it was more than a hot morning. Without asking for permission, I walk around the bar, stepping behind the counter.

“What are you doing?” Blake asks.

“Lending you a hand.”

“You’re tired. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you didn’t come home last night.”

I smile, beyond thrilled that I’m not the only one who is observant.

“I’m handling this.”

“I’m helping you.”

Blake stares me down but I don’t back away, instead holding his gaze, which is no small feat.

“Oi, still waiting for my drink,” a man calls from behind the bar, cutting through the tension.

We have our hands full until well after midnight. Finally, when there are just three patrons left and it’s only a few minutes before closing, I use the opportunity to use the personnel toilet.

On my way back, close to the door connecting the back office area with the bar, I hear a low, seductive female voice.

“Blake, you look sexier every time I see you.”

I flatten myself against the wall. I can’t see her through the open door, but if I can hear her, I imagine she either must have stepped behind the bar or is leaning across it, and they’re nearby.

“Thank you, Sarah.”

“You still live upstairs?”

“Yes.”