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“Blake,” she whispered. “I—”
He snatched the keys and helped her to her feet. “I’ll unlock the door for you.”
“Okay.” Though neither of them moved. A second later he abruptly tossed the bag and the keys to the floor.
His hand slid into her hair at the same instant his mouth came down on hers. She stood on her toes and leaned into him, meeting his kiss with her own. His breath was warm, his body hard. Sandwiched between Blake and the door, she couldn’t think of a better place to be in that moment.
The first stroke of his tongue sent a sizzle down her spine. The second turned the sizzle to fire. She was burning up all over again, and he was the only way to cool down. She pressed herself against him, seeking that cool heat. He answered by deepening the kiss and running his hands in all kinds of places she wanted them, needed them. There was a wildness in her she’d never experienced, a hunger only this man gave her.
His free hand skimmed her waist, her breast, her nipple, sending a rush of sensation between her thighs—where she wanted him so very bad right now. Actually, she wanted to get lost in him. Her palms pulled him closer, caressing his powerfully muscled back. Yes. Lost. Please.
Voices suddenly echoed in the building, followed by the sound of keys jiggling in a lock. Blake pulled back, holding himself away from her. His breath was thick, his eyes dark. “I’m sorry, Darla. I didn’t mean—”
She leaned in and kissed him. “I did.” She bent down and snatched up the keys, then stood again. “Let’s go inside.” She turned and unlocked the door. Blake stepped in close to her, his hand sliding to her stomach, his lips lowering to her ear.
“I’m not coming in,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “I—”
“You are,” she said. “You’re coming in.” She reached to the ground by his feet and grabbed her bag and shoved it inside, behind the door.
He rested a hand on the door frame above the ringer. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again until I knew you couldn’t write this off as just sex.”
Instinct told her that he wanted to know she was taking this risk with him. “There’s two of us in this relationship, Blake. And I should tell you right now, you don’t get to set all the rules.”
He went completely still. “Relationship?”
“Yes. Relationship. You were right, back in Denver. This was never a one-night stand.”
“What about the competition thing?”
“You’ve proven to me that you’ll look out for my best interests,” she said, thinking of his expression again when she’d asked him who’d burned him. “I hope you believe I’ll do the same for you, because I will.” She reached out and drew his hand with hers. “I want you to come inside and not for one night. I want you to come inside my life. We’ll figure out how to make that work together.”
Still, he didn’t move, and she started to feel sick, to anticipate rejection. Maybe she’d misjudged this—him, them. Maybe he had simply wanted the challenge of pursuit. The chase. Men liked the chase. He was going to walk away. He was going to leave. She retreated a step, feeling foolish and exposed. And that’s when he took a step forward.
16
“BLAKE—” DARLA GASPED as he kicked the door shut and took her in his arms, his mouth soon on hers. She moaned against his lips and desperately tried to resist him, to reason with herself. But when his tongue stroked hers and his hand caressed down her hair, she did what she always did with Blake. She surrendered to what he made her feel, to that unnamed, ever-important something he always made her need.
“Whatever you were thinking when you started to back up,” he breathed against her lips, “was wrong.”
“You—”
“I what?” He kissed her, a deep passionate kiss that must have distracted Darla because she realized they were next to the couch. Again he asked, “I what, Darla?”
The heady masculine scent of him enveloped her, engulfing her in need. “You have this bad habit of having too many clothes on,” she answered, shoving his jacket over his shoulders and caressing his powerful shoulders.
Blake caught the jacket at his elbows and reached up to frame her face with hands too big to be so gentle.
“What were you thinking when you backed away from me?” he demanded gently. “I want to know.”
Her heart stilled a moment during which she considered avoidance or denial, but she quickly decided against any strategy at all. She didn’t want secrets with Blake. She wanted what he had claimed he wanted: honesty.
“I thought,” she admitted, “that you only wanted me when you thought I was a challenge. That when I invited you into my life freely, you would no longer want me.”
