It honestly surprised me that he was open to negotiating this. “And if I wanted to buy something for the apartment to put my stamp on it? Are you going to tell me I can’t add my own touches? Are you going to insist on reimbursing me?”

His brows drew together. “I have no wish to control what you do with your own money. I’d never tell you what you could or couldn’t buy. You want to put your stamp on the place? Go for it.” He took a sip of his coffee and then pinned my eyes with his. “But I pay the bills. Even if your next book makes you millions, I’d still insist on it.”

And then I got it. It wasn’t about him being ‘the man of the house’ or that he earned more money than me. It was about control. By paying those expenses, he was in control of his world. He needed that feeling.

Blake rounded the island and came to stand between my thighs. “Don’t you want to stay with me?”

I gave him a look of disgust. “Don’t try to sound all vulnerable and hurt.”

His mouth quirked. “Let’s look at the facts. You already live here, so nothing would really change—and we both know how much you dislike change. I don’t care if you want to add your own touches to the place; it’s your home, do what the fuck you like to make it feel more like your home. I’m saying you can pay for the groceries if you really want to contribute, so you can’t say you’d be relying on me to survive. And you like living here. You like the peace and the quiet and the views. Why give all that up?”

“Stop blowing holes in my case!”

His smile widened. “I want you here. You want to be here. Why fight it? It’s senseless. And really not worth it, since I won’t let this go.”

I sighed. “You have to be sure you truly want this, Blake.”

Now he gave me a look of disgust. “Kensey, how many people do you think I’ve revealed all my shit to? Shall I tell you? None.”

“But Rossi—”

“We’ve been friends since high school and he’s Bastien’s cousin. That’s how he knows so much. No, before you ask, Liza didn’t touch him.” Blake cupped my neck. “I wouldn’t have trusted you with all of that unless you meant something to me. And you mean a fuck of a lot to me. Unless you don’t feel the same way, I don’t see why you can’t agree to live here permanently.”

“It’s just that—”

He quieted me with a soft kiss. “You love me, Kensey.”

My heart slammed against my rib cage. “Where did you get that idea?”

“I see it. I feel it. And if you can’t see and feel that I love you, you’re fucking clueless.”

Disbelief left me at a loss for words. I stared at him, off-balance. Eventually, I said, “I can’t decide whether to hug you for saying you love me or to slap you for daring to even entertaining the thought that I might be clueless.”

“The first. You should do the first.”

I sank my teeth into my lower lip. “You mean it? You love me?”

“I mean it. Would never have said it if I didn’t.” His mouth took mine in a lazy, languid kiss that made my toes curl. “Say it, Kensey.”

My pulse spiked. “I’ve never said it to a guy before.”

Smugness flared in his eyes. “Good.” His hands slid from my neck and delved into my hair. “Say it.”

Nervous, I licked my lips and swallowed. Shit, why was it so hard to tell him? He already knew anyway. I took a deep, preparatory breath and whispered, “I love you.”

His eyes went all soft and slumberous as a smile of pure male satisfaction curved his mouth. “I know. Makes you feel vulnerable to admit it, doesn’t it? I get that. But it doesn’t give me power over you, Kensey. The power to hurt you? Sure. Just like you have the power to hurt me. But not power over you. I’ve told you many times; you’re safe with me.”

He kissed me again, plundering my mouth with so much possessiveness that I felt branded to the bone. Snaking my arms around his waist, I splayed my hands on his back and said, “I don’t like that I have the power to hurt you. And vice versa.”

“Same here. But you know we sometimes will hurt each other; there’s no avoiding that. One thing I adore about you is that you don’t blow and lose your shit whenever you’re upset—there’s no drama. I need that, baby, because I’ve had enough fucking drama. And the last thing I want is a relationship that’s anything like what my parents had.”

I tilted my head. “It was bad?”

“They didn’t work at it, Kensey. If one upset the other, they didn’t talk. Didn’t try to resolve anything. Didn’t apologize. I can’t count the number of times one stormed out on the other, all pissed and self-righteous. If it was my dad who’d marched out, my mother would pack his clothes in bags and throw them out the bedroom window. If she was the one who’d stormed out, he’d take me somewhere and not bring me back until it was really dark.”

“Knowing that, because of her phobia, she’d be terrified for you but couldn’t go looking for you,” I understood. Oh, that was harsh.

“It’s not that I never went out at night until after she died. She allowed it, but she still panicked about it. And knowing he’d kept me out until late at night just to spite her … that always hit her exactly where it hurt.”

As Clear had never lived with a man, the one thing I’d never had to deal with was seeing any kind of domestic argument. It also meant that the most I knew about relationships came from what I’d observed of Sherry and Dodger. They were tight. Happy. Solid.

“If either of us hurt the other, there’ll be no hitting back out of spite,” Blake stated firmly. “No storming out. We’ll sit and talk. We’ll work it out. Yeah?”

“Yeah. But there may be some bitch-slapping.”

He smiled. “I consider myself warned.”

“And I’ll expect gifts if you fuck up majorly. Pretty pens. Notepads. Nothing expensive.” His expression turned a little shifty, and I tensed. “What?”

“I have something for you.” He pulled a box out of his pocket and opened it.

I eyed the black wristwatch carefully. There was nothing flashy about it. Small and compact, it had a strap of silicon. But I could tell it was pricey. “You bought me a watch?”

“Before you balk at wearing this, hear me out.”

That sentence didn’t bode well.

“This is a phone. It has its own sim card and cell number. You can make calls using it, and you can also receive calls—but only from numbers that you preapprove in the account on the App, which means you’re in control of who can contact you.” He pointed to a small button on the side of the watch. “If you push hard on this for five seconds or more, it’ll send an alert to whatever contacts you program it to do so. It’ll also show your location on the App, so those contacts will know where you are.”

My brows flew up. “My location? This is a tracking device?” I couldn’t help but bristle. “So, with the App, you could check my location at any given time?”

He raised one hand, palm out. “It isn’t about checking where you are. You know me, Kensey. I’m demanding and pushy, but I’d never try to take your independence from you. I respect you too much for that. I don’t want to keep tabs on you. I don’t want to invade your privacy. This is about your safety.”