“Had a momentary slip of passion?”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” she asks cheekily. I have the overwhelming need to stalk after her and kiss her long and good, but then we’d never make it out of the house, and I do have a lot planned for tonight. So, I wait for her to freshen up, only going in the bathroom after she comes out.
When I return to the living room, Clara is sitting on a chair, tying the straps of her shoes, looking dead sexy in them. She catches me looking at her.
“You like them?”
I take a moment to regain my composure, pushing away all the dirty thoughts, because if I voice them, she’d peg me for the pervert I am. She rises to her feet, strutting along the room, holding the hem of her dress up so I can see her shoes. The little vixen is testing my self-control. I close the distance, backing her against the wall—again. I have to stop doing that. Having her trapped between my arms, looking so sinfully sexy and ready to surrender, is messing with my mind. I hadn’t realized just how starved I am for her, but I’ll have to wait until we’re back to get my fill of her.
“When we return, I’ll keep you up in bed until morning. Until then, you’re not allowed to tempt me. Do you understand?”
“You don’t get it, do you? You’re not the boss of me.”
A sassy grin spreads on her beautiful face. Yeah... I’m a dead man.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Clara
Come on, Clara, you can do this!
It’s seven o’clock on Saturday, and I’d usually be in my bed this early in the morning—that goes double now that there is a hot man in it. But I woke up half an hour ago to drink water and had a stroke of inspiration to finish an illustration. So, I slipped out of Blake’s bed and took refuge in my apartment, working at the large desktop I have installed on my kitchen table. I’m at the last stage of the process with this one. I start all of them by putting pen to paper, and then I import the rough sketches to my computer and use various programs such as Illustrator and Photoshop to finish them.
From time to time, I lift my head to give my eyes a break, focusing them on the explosion of colors—pink, reds, yellows—on the balcony. The dahlias and hydrangeas love the end of June weather.
With a bit of luck, I’ll finish this before Blake even wakes up.
“Early bird, huh?”
I jump out of my seat, heart thundering in my chest. “Jesus! Don’t sneak up on me like that. You’ll give me a heart attack.” Blake is standing in the doorway to the balcony, which I left wide open. I glance at the clock. Damn, when did it become nine? No wonder he’s awake.
“Another illustration ready?” he asks.
“I was just adding the final touches.”
“My offer still stands. I can ask my contact to take a look at your work anytime.”
“No, no, that’s really not necessary.”
Blake cocks a brow. “You don’t want anyone to ever see your work?”
“I’d love to share it with others, but I’m not ready yet.”
“When will you be?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, turning off my desktop monitor. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
Minutes later, I hand him a cup. He pulls me in for a soft kiss, and I have the overwhelming desire to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming about all of this. We’ve spent almost every night in the same bed since I returned from my trip last week.
“How did you sleep?” I ask.
“Someone slept on my arm the entire night. I woke up thinking it fell off.”
I smile sheepishly. Yes, I have the habit of sleeping on his arm, on his chest. At some point Blake seems to have realized there is no shaking me off, so he spoons behind me, keeping an arm under his head, the other around my waist. I’ve never slept better than when feeling Blake’s chest pressing against my back...and the inevitable morning wood, but that’s an entirely different story. That’s the bonus.
“It’s your fault. You kept an arm under me instead of your head. You’re quite the spooner.”