Chapter 82: Warmth

Blake Cameron arched an eyebrow, his single-lidded eyes narrowing slightly with a sly grin. "Who says long hair can't be cut short? Besides, I am, after all, a man," he emphasized, particularly stressing the word *man*. 

"I know that, of course!" Lauren Wells chimed in again. "Before Blake returned to the States, he definitely had long hair. When he came to help with my styling today, I was completely shocked! I couldn't figure out why he decided to chop off those beautiful locks he'd had for years." 

Blake, with his previously shoulder-length, silky hair, had always stood out. His slim frame, flawless features, and lazy yet alluring smile exuded an aristocratic elegance reminiscent of decadent European nobility. Add to that his flowing hair, and he was outrageously gorgeous. Wherever he went, he turned heads and stirred admiration, even causing a scene at the airport upon his return. 

Yet, cutting his hair hadn't diminished his appeal in the slightest. If anything, the short hair accentuated his sharp, chiseled features. His striking blue eyes, high nose bridge, and perfectly proportioned lips combined to create a devastatingly handsome visage—enough to leave anyone breathless. 

But enough digression; back to Claire Grace— 

"It's really you?!" Claire finally began to believe it. Memories of that day resurfaced—his hand gripping her waist, its unexpected strength, and the odd coarseness of "her" voice. It all clicked. He wasn't a woman. 

But why, she wondered, had he looked at her with *that* unmistakable, searing gaze? 

"Yes, the real deal." Blake raised a hand, pointing to himself with a confident smirk. 

"Claire, the styling master I mentioned earlier? That's Blake!" Lauren explained. "I meant to tell you, but your CEO was on a tear that day, and I forgot while trying to make my escape." She grinned apologetically. "Now that you two already know each other, I'll leave you to chat. I need to get back—don't want my dear husband complaining about the missing bride!" 

"Oh, okay," Claire muttered, watching Lauren, stunning in her wedding dress, disappear through the doorway. 

With only the two of them left in the lounge, the room grew uncomfortably quiet. 

"You're tense." Blake smiled warmly as he strode toward the sofa. Patting the empty spot beside him, he gestured for her to sit. "Come, let's talk." 

"Wh-what?" Claire stammered. Talk? Here? *And that close?* 

"What's the matter? Worried I might try something inappropriate?" Blake chuckled, easily reading her thoughts. 

Claire froze momentarily before forcing a laugh. "M-Master Blake—" 

"Just call me Blake. 'Master' feels strange and stiff," he said earnestly. 

"Blake?" she repeated hesitantly. *Since when are we on first-name terms?* "Uh, Master Blake—" 

"Blake," he corrected, grinning with mock patience. 

"Right, Blake, Master. Was there something you needed from me?" she asked, hoping to wrap things up quickly. For some reason, being alone in the same room with him felt… odd. Perhaps it was the memory of their earlier encounter that kept resurfacing, or maybe it was the way he had looked at her that day. 

One thing was certain—this man was dangerous. 

But why was someone as dazzling as Blake Cameron paying her so much attention? 

"I just wanted to chat. It's our second meeting, after all," Blake said casually. Seeing her rooted to the spot, he stood and gently but firmly grasped her wrist. Before she could react, he had seated her beside him on the sofa and released her hand, then moved to the far end to give her space. 

Claire sat there, stunned by the seamless series of actions. It took several moments for her to regain her composure. Her gaze dropped to her wrist, where the lingering warmth of his touch remained. Warm… Was it because the lounge was overly air-conditioned? Otherwise, why would his touch feel so comforting on such a hot day? 

"Claire, your expression tells me you're being cautious around me." Blake leaned back against the sofa, his blue eyes locking onto hers. There was an unreadable depth in his gaze. 

Was he always this direct? Claire looked up at him, startled. And—wait. What had he just called her? Claire? That sounded almost… natural? 

"If you're uncomfortable with me calling you Claire, let me know. I can go back to 'Miss Grace,'" he offered lightly. 

"No, no, it's fine. Claire is fine. It feels… friendly," she blurted out, surprising herself. Since when had she been okay with someone calling her by her first name? 

It had to be the heat. Maybe she was dizzy, or perhaps this was just a symptom of heatstroke. 

"Friendly?" Blake repeated the word, rolling it over his tongue with an amused smile. His lips curved into a dazzling grin. "So, you feel the same way?" 

His smile momentarily dazed her, and she nodded absentmindedly in agreement, not even registering his question. 

"Claire, you're quite beautiful. Especially your legs," Blake said lazily. He wasn't surprised by her dazed reaction; it was something he had encountered all too often. 

"Th-thank you," Claire mumbled, averting her gaze in discomfort. Wait—had he just complimented her legs? 

Her mind raced. She suddenly recalled their first meeting when he had walked into the store and stared directly at her, his gaze lingering on her legs. *Why is he so interested in them?* 

Shifting slightly, she pressed her legs together and tugged at her dress to cover as much of them as possible.