The thing was … he was right.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Given that Blake was absolutely insatiable—I had no complaints about that, by the way—I’d expected him to guide me straight to the bedroom. Instead, he led me into the kitchen and over to a stool at the island.

He poured us both a glass of wine and then set mine in front of me. “Drink,” he said. “You look like you need it.”

I did need it. The day had been emotionally tiring. I took a long sip of wine before asking, “How was your lunch with Bastien and Tara? Productive?”

“Bastien couldn’t make it, so it was just me and Tara. Yes, it was productive.”

I hid my annoyance at the idea of them having lunch alone, pissed that I could be so petty. Of course, I really wanted him to elaborate on ‘productive,’ but I knew he wouldn’t. I could see that he was expecting me to ask anyway. Instead, I asked sweetly, “What did you order?”

His eyes gleamed. “Mushroom Carbonara.”

My nose wrinkled. “Never liked mushrooms.”

He took a drink from his glass. “What did you have for lunch?”

“Cade bought us all deli sandwiches.”

“Nice of him,” Blake said, tone flat. “Does that mean you ate together?”

“Sarah and Reed ate with us too. Don’t give me that look. I haven’t moaned that you had lunch with Tara.”

“I haven’t slept with Tara.”

“You could if you wanted to,” I said with a pissy snort. “She’d be totally up for it.”

“I told you, she’s—”

“You’re a smart guy, Blake. Surely it’s crossed your mind that she lures women away from you because she doesn’t like seeing you with others.”

He hesitated just long enough for me to be sure I was right. “If she was interested in me that way, she’d have made it clear by now.”

I shook my head. “You would have held her at a distance to discourage her interest. She probably thinks that if she can get close to you, you’ll fall for her.”

“I highly doubt it. But it’s a moot point, since I have no interest in her. The only woman I want is sitting right in front of me.” His eyes glittered. “And she’s all mine.”

I tilted my head. “I wouldn’t have had you down as the possessive type.”

“No, neither would I.” He drank more wine. “How did the meeting go at your mother’s house?”

“Pretty much as I’d expected. Clear still wants me to move in with her, which I can’t do. I’d be putting her in danger.” My brow furrowed. “She said that Linton hasn’t been bothering her much. Just leaving her voicemails. She hasn’t come face-to-face with him in a while.”

Blake twisted his mouth. “So his main focus is you.”

“If he’s really writing that book he mentioned to me, he should be more interested in speaking with Clear. Linton said he finds it interesting that Michael is a model prisoner, and he believes that she keeps him stable in some way and that she’s even ‘fixed’ him to an extent. Linton thinks I helped her with that.”

“Maybe you did.”

Yeah, well, I didn’t like to think about that. “Linton also finds it interesting that I’m involved with you—someone who he thinks is, like Michael, emotionally unavailable.” I expected Blake to be offended at being mentioned in the same breath as a sociopath, but he was too busy staring at me thoughtfully.

“You don’t like to think you’ve had a positive impact on Michael,” he sensed.

It was instinct to say nothing and just shrug noncommittally, but I didn’t do that this time. We’d agreed to try ‘more.’ I had to do my part. “No, I don’t.”

He cocked his head. “Why does the idea bother you?”

“Who would like to think that a sociopath has formed an attachment to them?”

Blake’s perceptive eyes flashed with something soft. “It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you if he has.”

It was no surprise that he’d seen right to the heart of the issue. I drained my glass. “Ever since I was a kid, my mom told me she couldn’t survive without me. And I knew she meant it. Knew she was so fragile that she literally needed me as much as she needed oxygen to breathe. I’m sure she thought it was supposed to make me feel treasured. It didn’t. It was like a weight.” I thrust a hand through my hair. “It’s terrifying, especially to a child, to know that another person’s emotional stability rests on you that way. Is it wrong that sometimes I’m actually grateful that she has Michael, so that someone else shares the burden?”

“It’s not wrong. It’s human.” Blake rounded the island and turned my stool so I was facing him. He insinuated himself between my thighs and rested his hands on them. “You’ve told me about her bubble. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to have someone in your life who you can never quite reach—it must have made you lonely at times. And I’m sure it’s even harder that that same someone has made choices that complicated your life in ways she blinds herself to. It wouldn’t be so bad if you could hate her, but you can’t. You don’t. It would be hard not to feel pity for someone who can only feel safe when in her little bubble.”

I nodded. “And who am I to judge her for that? I live in my own bubble sometimes, don’t I? When I write, I go to a place where things are in my control. A place that’s not real. A place where I’m safe. In some ways, that must be relatively similar to what Clear does.”

“That’s different, and it’s not the sole reason you write books. You explained to me that you write because you have to write—it’s almost an inherent part of your identity. It serves as an escape, yes, but it’s only a temporary one. You come back. You choose to live in the real world. She just can’t.”

I gestured from me to him. “This is weird.”

“What?”

“Having deep conversations with you. In a very short period of time, we’ve gone from keeping things simple to … this—having serious talks. In your apartment. Where I’ll be staying the night. We sort of slammed on the acceleration pedal.”

He shrugged. “I don’t do things halfway, Kensey.” He twirled a strand of my hair around his finger. “I like hearing about your life. I live having you here. I like that I’ll get to wake you up in the morning by shoving my cock inside you. I don’t see a problem.”

When he put it like that, neither did I.

“After this mess has been cleared up, I’ll be going on the occasional business trip again—some will be overnight stays, some will last longer. I won’t get as much time with you then, but we’ll never go back to only seeing each other at weekends. I want more. You want more. Why move at a certain pace simply because it’s what other people do? We’re not other people.”

Although that made sense, it still worried me that he might feel crowded at some point. “You have to tell me if you miss your alone time and you feel like I’m taking up too much space in your life.”

He lightly nipped my lower lip. “You don’t take up the space. You fit into it.” He sounded as surprised by that as I was.

“You say some pretty nice stuff sometimes.”