Your Fierce Love (The Bennett Family) Read online

  “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.

  Blake sent this. I can barely resist texting him, but it’s late and he could be asleep. I’ll call tomorrow. I can’t believe he’s so sweet. His gesture warms me up, filling me with a fuzzy feeling. Aaaah, what’s this man doing to me?

  I startle when my ringtone fills the room, then make a grab for my phone. The one and only Blake Bennett is calling. I answer immediately.

  “Hey! I was just thinking about you.”

  “Great minds think alike.” There’s background noise on his end, so he’s working, as I expected.

  “Thank you for the alarm.”

  “For a safe trip back home. Promise you’ll use it.”

  “Of course. I wish you were here,” I say in a small voice, hoping it doesn’t come across as needy. I have no idea what the rules are for “no labels”. Then I break into a long yawn. “I need to sleep, I’m still exhausted.”

  “Oh, sweetness, you wouldn’t be getting much sleep if I were there.”

  “Really? And why is that?”

  “I couldn’t keep my hands and mouth off you.”

  “You did a pretty good job not touching me two nights ago.”

  “Yeah, I was being a gentleman, and I used all my dose of gentlemanly that night.”

  Another yawn takes me by surprise, but I stifle it, not quite ready to say good night. I love talking to him. It doesn’t hurt that his voice is pure sexiness. I hadn’t realized that until now, possibly because when we’re in the same room, I’m too busy drinking in his appearance to pay special attention to his voice. I really need to work on my distributive attention.

  “Are you sore?” His voice is lower and huskier now. So damn sexy.


  “A bit but in a good way. In a way that makes me want more.”

  “Clara....” He groans softly, and I bite down on my lip.

  OhGodOhGodOhGod!

  My name in his mouth sounds almost sinful, and I haven’t even really provoked him. I wonder what he’ll sound like if I do, and settle on immediately finding out. Don’t leave for tomorrow what you can do today and all that.

  “I’m naked in my bed.”

  “I’m working.”

  “What’s one thing got to do with the other?”

  “I need to concentrate. If I have an image of you naked in my mind, I’m going to wreak havoc. Tell me you made that up.”

  “Fine! I’m wearing period panties and a baggy T-shirt.”

  “You really are naked, aren’t you?” he sounds defeated.

  “Yup.”

  “I’m a dead man.”

  I open my mouth but shut it again when I hear a voice calling to him from his background. “Blake, come on! Don’t leave a girl waiting.”

  I feel my insides tighten because I don’t recognize that voice. Certainly not one of his sisters. Oh man, I have to find a way to stop panicking all the time.

  “I’ll leave you to get back to work.”

  “I have a bachelorette party here. Half the women are drunk already.”

  “Did they hire a stripper too?”

  “Over my dead body will I have strippers in my bars.”

  “Blake! Come on. We need more tequila,” yet another woman’s voice calls from his end of the line.

  Many customers at the bar call him by his name. He has this approachable quality to him that instantly pulls you in, makes you feel like you’ve known him for ages. I’ve watched him with customers, and socializing comes easy to him. Almost as easy as it takes actors to slip into their characters. Only Blake isn’t acting. He’s genuinely a warm and funny person, and I can’t get enough of him.

  “Go back to the customers,” I urge.

  “Talk to you tomorrow? I like hearing your voice.”

  Those simple words fill me with joy and giddiness.

  “Sure. Good night, Blake.”

  “Good night.”

  I click off the phone, placing it on the floor next to my bed. Ugh, my alarm is going to ring in five hours. But still, even though I know I should go to sleep, I allow myself a few minutes to bask in my giddiness. I can’t wait to return home and pepper him with kisses, climb in his lap. I am going to make Blake the happiest man. Yes, I am. He deserves it, and ahem, maybe he’ll even fall in love with me.

  I sigh happily into my pillow, even though I should know better than to hope like a romantic fool.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Blake

  “Sinclair agreed to our terms,” I inform Alice over the phone while I hurry up toward Ghirardelli Square, where I’m meeting Summer and Daniel.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Alice’s shrill voice makes me wince.

  “Wow, easier on the enthusiasm, sister, or my ear will be ringing until our next call.”

  “I didn’t make any headway on the phone, and I was sure we were going to lose him. Thank you for going to him in person.”

  “Well, I’m here to save the day.”

  “I’m so lucky I can count on you.”

  “Of course you can.”

  The business is running like a well-oiled machine, and I’m damn proud of it, but I can’t turn my mind off from always thinking about ways to improve processes, cutting costs without lowering quality or squeezing our partners dry. I don’t need more money. I have enough money. Too much of it, actually. More than one person would ever need. But I discovered a few years ago that there is a thrill to building businesses and making them thrive. I’ve always had too much energy. In my early twenties, I wasted it on parties and hanging around with people who weren’t worth my time, much less my energy or affection. Then I got my head out of my ass, focused more on the family and on building something.

  “You’re meeting Summer now, right?”

  “Yep. Daniel too.”

  “Can you do me a favor and put on your best entertainment show for her?”

  “What happened?”

  “Love troubles. Another douchebag playing with her. But don’t tell her I said anything.”

  Just like that, I take my business hat off, slipping into brother mode.

  “What? She’s dating? Who do I have to kill?” Here’s the thing: Logan is in intense mode all the time, and Christopher and Max are on the relaxed end of the spectrum. I’m way more balanced. But when someone threatens to hurt my family, I switch to motherfucking intense in five seconds flat.

  “Don’t be dramatic.”

  I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Okay, I’ll settle for maiming.”

  “I have to go now, but just cheer her up, please?”

  “Deal.”

  I arrive at our meeting point in Ghirardelli Square at the same time as Daniel. Summer is already at a booth, inspecting some gigantic red flower that looks like the stuff of kids’ nightmares. A cross between a carnivorous plant and the boogeyman. Come to think of it, I will probably have nightmares because of it.

  Summer wants to plant some new stuff in her yard, and she asked Daniel and me to come here with her today to look at the temporary pop-up flower market and help carry the supplies. Considering the amount of planning and scheduling it takes to see my own family these days, I jump at any occasion, even when I’m practically being used as a flower mule. Mid-June strikes me as an odd period to plant flowers, but it’s not like I know anything on the subject.

  “Hello, fellow Bennetts,” I greet.

  Summer kisses my cheek, then shows me her list. Correction. Flower, pots, earth, and fertilizer mule.

  “Thank you both so much for helping me,” Summer says. “I’m buying you drinks for this.”

  “Excellent!” Daniel eyes her list with a raised eyebrow. “Can we start with that?”

  “We’d better. You’re gonna need sustenance. There’s a booth with snacks and drinks over there.” She elbows us playfully, and then we head toward the booth. Five minutes later, sodas in hand, Daniel asks me, “You going to Emma’s birthday?”

  “Nah, too many people I don’t want to see there.”

  “Same for me.”

  Emma’s cousin was the one who wanted to sell the details I told her about Pippa’s divorce to the press. Emma did assure me she had no idea, but by that time, I didn’t believe any of them anymore, so I stepped way back. That’s what you do when you can’t tell the true friends from the fake ones. Here’s the thing though, always keeping your guard up is exhausting, not to mention lonely as hell. Daniel has always been the more distrustful of the two of us, kept his guard up more than I did.

  “Let’s make a tour and see what we find from my list,” Summer suggests.

  The flower market is loud and busy: vendors pulling you aside, trying to sell their merchandise; buyers questioning and negotiating. Summer keeps her list close, checking off the items she finds.

  “How’s the gallery?” Daniel asks her.

  “We have a new Picasso collection this month. Attracting quite the crowd.”

  Daniel raises his eyebrows, clearly picking up something’s wrong. Usually, when Summer talks about the gallery, she goes on forever. I don’t think Alice clued him in, though.

  “Can I ask you two something? And you’ll answer honestly?” Summer asks, standing straighter.

  “Sure,” Daniel answers.

  “Do I give off non-dating vibes? I mean, is it something I do that makes men think, ‘oh, this one’s just for fucking?’”

  “What?” Daniel blinks. Yeah, Alice clearly didn’t clue him in.

  “Summer!”

  “Sorry if the word “fucking” offends your brotherly ears, but I need some perspective.”

  Daniel and I exchange a look.

  “Of course you don’t give off any vibes—” Daniel begins, but Summer holds up her
hand.

  “I asked for the truth.”

  Well, since she asked.

  “You wear your heart on your sleeve,” I explain. “And you see everything through rose-colored glasses.”

  “So what you’re saying is I should be bitter and mistrustful?” she asks, stricken.

  “No, just...more careful.”

  “So it is my fault,” she says miserably.

  “What? No, I didn’t mean that.”

  Daniel groans. “Fantastic job, Blake.”

  “Come on, help me out here.” I place one hand on Summer’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault that a douchebag played you.”

  “Did you talk to Alice?” She narrows her eyes to slits.

  I’m really winning this, but I give it a shot, though I can never lie to Summer. “No.”

  “Liar.”

  Daniel gestures with his head toward an empty space between two booths, and we move the party there because we’re standing in everyone’s way.

  “Can someone fill me in?” Daniel asks. “I feel like I’m missing half the conversation.”

  “In a nutshell, my dating life’s a joke.”

  “Just putting it out there, but if you give us his name and address, we’ll happily deck him,” I offer, only half-joking.

  “You know, brotherly duty and all,” Daniel adds.

  She shakes her head. “You both sound like Logan!”

  I theatrically clutch my heart.

  “No need to insult us,” Daniel adds, faking offense.

  “So, no glaring signs that I’m unlovable?” she insists. To my shock, I realize she’s serious.

  “Summer Bennett, you’re the most lovable person I know.”

  “You say that because I’m your sister.”

  “Obviously. But that doesn’t make it less true.”

  Daniel nods. “If you need help vetoing any candidates in the future, I’m at your service.”

  “Your Logan impression is getting scarily accurate. Come on, let’s get started with the shopping or I’ll never be done with it.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the three of us head to her car, arms loaded. This is just the first round. Summer is barely halfway through the list.