“I’m not rushing things,” Thornton said flatly.
“Uh, yeah.” Ethan was perplexed. ‘You don’t have to tell me that. You’re not the type—”
“And Blake?”
“And Blake what?”
“Do you think she’s the type?”
Thornton checked his watch. Ten-fifteen in the evening. She was supposed to be here by dinner, dammit. It wasn’t like her to be late, and even more unlike Blake was her not sending a message to explain the delay. The only reason he wasn’t calling the police now was because he had incognito bodyguards tailing Blake from the moment he realized his attraction to her.
They had kept him updated throughout the day, and it was through them he found out that she and Teller had finished talking even before dinner. After that, she had stayed with her grandmother…and stopped contacting him since then.
What the hell was happening?
He took his phone out and backread on all the messages they had exchanged throughout the day.
Blake: Missing you already.
Blake: Thorn! I said I’m missing you already.
Thornton: You just got inside the car.
Blake: So?
Thornton: I can still see you. You’re still in our driveway.
Blake: I see what you did there.
Thornton: Speaking logically?
Blake: You called it our driveway to distract me.
Thornton: I wasn’t trying to distract you.
Blake: But it’s not working.
Thornton: I just said I wasn’t trying anything.
Blake: So please just say it.
Blake: Thorn?
Blake: Hello?
Blake: I’m driving away now.
Blake: You can’t see me now.
Blake: Can you say it now?
Thornton: Don’t drive and text.
Thornton: And I miss you.
Just thinking about their earlier text conversation almost had him smiling. It had been silly as hell, but he had enjoyed it. Like he had told her last night, she had fucked him up well and good, and well…he was hoping she would keep at it for the rest of their lives—
A sound coming from the outside, almost like someone making a run for it, had Thornton swiftly stepping out just in time to see Blake rushing inside her place.
“Blake—”
But she didn’t even turn her head, and the door slammed shut behind her.
What the fuck?
He knocked on her door.
“Blake?”
He knocked again and again.
“Blake?”
He could feel his blood turning cold, could feel the urge to smash the door down growing stronger inside of him. Something…wasn’t right. He could feel it in his bones. He had these instincts ever since he had gone to war, and his instincts had never been wrong.
“Blake?”
“You really – wait.” She finally managed to tear her gaze off his chest. Which was exquisitely naked. And which she recalled raking her nails—concentrate, Blake Golding!
She yanked her mind out of the gutter and forced herself to concentrate on Thornton’s face. It was just as beautiful, but a little less distracting at least. “What was that you, um, said earlier?”
“You’re perfect.”
She couldn’t help bursting into laughter. “I’m not.”
“You are—” And before she could argue, he added quietly, “For me. You’re perfect for me.”