Page 47 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

If I wasn’t about to swoon like a Victorian heroine before, I am now. He thinks my flat is perfect? Probably he’s overcome with the heatwave. However, it’s in my favor and I’ll take it without question.

“Would you come closer?” I whisper. “I need to show you something.”

Obligingly, he comes closer, sliding those well-muscled arms around me, sending a series of shivers down my spine. And when he comes as close as he can, I brush my lips against his, a heat of our own between us. Of course he’s glorious. And we kiss lingeringly, till I draw him down on the bed with me to continue our exploratory kisses before I feel a bit dizzy again like I did downstairs. And stop.

“Okay?” he asks gently.

“Just…a bit spinny, having you so close,” I confess. Which is true, like the room won’t stop moving. Or that somehow I’m orbiting the dream of Blake in some alternate universe where meeting someone like him could happen to me.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs. “If you had any clue.”

Smiling into his neck, it thrills me to hear that. “Can you tell me more?”

“I will. And I want you to tell me more too,” Blake murmurs against my skin, his breath tickling my ear. Held tight, close and safe, I feel cared for. Wanted.

Chapter Twelve

Later, it’s cooler. And I’m alone. Twilight hangs like a veil beyond my window, the curtains still left pushed back for airflow.

Sleepily, I roll over. Something’s missing. Or someone. As my brain awakens, two things are obvious: Blake’s no longer in my bed, and in the distance, there’s some sort of metallic clanking and the sound of intermittent running water.

Shit. What if the pipes have gone too? One of my fears realized, water damaging the books.

That would be fucking perfect. At this point, I’d believe anything, including that having Blake in my bed was a fantasy in a fevered dream.

Except I see a couple of books on the table next to the sofa that weren’t there before. The romance I’m reading, open facedown, half read. I scowl. And also facedown beneath it, I discoverTen Steps to Personal Growth. Two book atrocities in one go. I find a couple of bookmarks and place them, saving the books from their terrible spine-cracking fate.

How long was I asleep?

Sitting up, I push my hand through my hair and get out of bed. I find a T-shirt again before padding downstairs on bare feet, following the sounds to the kitchen…where I discover Blake at work, testing the tap, and a scatter of tools on the counter and floor. My eyebrows lift at the unlikely combination of Blake and my pocket-sized kitchen, and the fact that he’s in the throes of some manner of DIY project. The duct tape is noticeably absent from the faucet. And God, he’s distracting, with or without DIY, but it may have made him even hotter.

“Blake?”

He turns, his face brightening at the sight of me.

“You’re up,” he says, pleased, like I’m the best thing he’s seen all day. Meanwhile, I’m at a loss about how much time I’ve missed where he could half read two books and play repair man.

Except he’s obviously not playing.

“Check this out.” He turns on the tap. Water pours as it should. When he shuts the tap off, it doesn’t drip. Clearly, I must be standing in someone else’s kitchen and not mine. “You had everything I needed under the sink to fix this.”

“Witchcraft,” I remark. It’s the only reasonable explanation. Who knows what sorts of incantations and rituals are needed to repair aging plumbing without divine intervention? I’ve ordered bits and bobs from internet searches, but I would always get overwhelmed about actually going through with the repair.

“And this.” Turning the faucet from side to side, it moves smoothly, even with the water running.

“Show-off,” I tell him, matter-of-fact as he crows with delight. I give him a wry smile. “You’ve probably put two and two together and figured out that fixing things isn’t exactly my specialty.”

Blake flashes that grin that melts my insides like ice cream left out, a bit squidgy. “Well, your secretiskind of out of the bag.”

“Mm. I didn’t realize you could fix things too.”

“Not just another pretty face for your roster. I have skills,” Blake says lightly, coming over to slide his arms around my waist and giving me a kiss. And God, I’ve never felt so turned on about plumbing of any sort before. Or maybe it was the witchcraft. It’s so hard to tell when I’m, in fact, hard.

“My roster is…” I manage between increasingly urgent kisses, “surprisingly short with the number of pretty faces. Show me what else can you do?”

“Oh, plenty of things,” he growls, cool hands sliding against my belly. I shudder with the shock, then lean in as his hand snakes lower to cup my balls. Groaning, I lean my forehead against his shoulder. “If you want.”

“Believe me, I want.” Pulling him into greedy kisses, my reformed kitchen fades from my awareness into a new reality that only has Blake in it, along with his teasing, which leaves me weak-kneed. “Let’s…take this upstairs.”

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