by Corri Lee
Oddly, I missed Fat Emmy. She’d goaded me incessantly, trying to force me home, and I’d never listened. I should have. I knew that she’d have been snapping in my ear during that dance, telling me to stop being depressive and enjoy the moment.
It wasn’t that she wanted to encourage me. She just needed to disagree with my every thought.
I was semi-conscious when Blaze ushered me in through the front door of my flat, both of us soaked to the bone from just the small walk from Henry’s limo to the building’s entrance. We’d all travelled home together, my friends, parents, Blaze and I, making stops around London to drop off our tipsy companions. We’d been last to leave the limo, and had sat huddled in a corner in silence, grasping each others hands until they blanched with pressure.
He was as scared as I was to be back in this place with me; this place that had once led us to disaster the last time we were in it together. It didn’t matter that the circumstances were different; the apprehension was the same for both of us. I would secretly torment myself over the fact he’d left his disabled wife to chase me and it had taken me so long to find out, and he’d regret that he’d married her at all and second guess every move he’d made before. For the foreseeable future, our lives together would be about reassuring the other, and at the time, it didn’t seem like either of us had the mind for it.
We were both exhausted. Blaze had confessed as much when it had transpired that he’d been mostly staying with Chris and his mother—my old boss—Mrs. Reynolds. It was a comfort to know that the friend who seemed to like him the least had helped him the most.
The nights had been as long as ridden with nightmares for Blaze as they had been for me. There would have been times when we’d both been staring at the ceiling at the same time, thinking of each other and wondering how it went so wrong.
Our affinity had the ability to cross oceans.
Blaze led me into the bedroom by the shoulders and eased me down onto the bed, carefully removing my shoes one by one before heading into the en suite to look for make up wipes.
When he’d cleaned me up, he smiled and brushed his hands over my hair. “I’ll let you get settled. Need a drink?”
A drink? He’d come back with me just to provide room service? I blinked at him in bewilderment. “Aren’t you staying in here with me?”
“Of course,” he nodded and stood. “I’m just giving you a little privacy to get changed and tucked in.”
“Now why the hell would I need—”
“Hush, nympho.” My brow twitched at the endearment. “It’ll be cold later. I think some of your old shirts eluded the charity shops.” I watched him pace to the wardrobe and rummage through until he found the shirt I’d worn when he’d taken me roller skating in Hyde Park. It had been far too big then but, maybe unfortunately, it would likely be a comfortable fit now.
Blaze slunk out of the door, leaving me confused and alone to change out of my dress. It seemed too strange that he hadn’t jumped at the chance to make love after so long, and I didn’t know how to handle the apparent rejection. Some of the dread in my stomach contorted, creating a painful twinge I knew to be stress-related.
Stop this, you’re spoiling it for yourself. If the poor man hasn’t slept for three months, he probably doesn’t have the stamina or blood flow.
Right. Sucking it up...
I’d only just crawled into bed when Blaze slipped in behind me, but I was already drifting into an irresistible slumber. I hadn’t felt fatigue like it while I’d been away and I didn’t know how much of it was down to the medication and alcohol I’d mixed a little too much. His firm, warm frame wrapped around me, his t-shirt putting another layer between us.
“Blaze?” I mumbled at him, not even sure he’d understand what I was saying. “Are you mad at me because I found someone new?”
“No, Emmeline. Not if you never really moved on. I just... “ His lips brushed back and forth across my neck, making it harder to stay awake for his answer. “I just want to rest with you tonight. For your sake as much as mine. To show you that this means more than just physical attraction, and to just hold you the way I should have done every minute before. I want you to fall asleep with me, and wake up the way we mean to go on.”
I shifted slightly onto my back, rubbing at his tear-stained cheek. “Because when I wake up next to you, it’ll make it real?”
“God, I hope so.” He rolled me back over and snuggled into my back, one arm under my head, the other around my waist and his legs woven between mine. It seemed like he’d done it on purpose—like he wanted to make it impossible to move without waking him, like I was a dream he was clinging on to. “I’m sort of counting on it.”
I was out within minutes and fell asleep to the sound of his cautious breathing behind me. Blaze would have to learn to relax again with me and stop worrying if I felt objectified or devalued. It wasn’t something I would be taking into consideration while I was focusing on enjoying whatever time it was we had together.
Life had no guarantees. I couldn’t say that this was my happily ever after. I couldn’t promise Blaze that his past secrets wouldn’t come between us again.
But for that night at least, I could lay next to my one man fan club. Tomorrow, I’d read his love notes after I’d woken up next to him.
That was enough to make me fall asleep with a smile.
December rolled in with a flourish and the gentle winter sun sneaking in through the window to bathe my bed. I nuzzled against the hand stroking my cheek and snuggled into it with a contented sigh, eyes still firmly closed. So far, December rocked. I couldn’t recall having any nightmares and I’d slept well, so I felt rested and far less tightly wound.
And then it occurred to me that the hand wasn’t mine, and I wasn’t alone.
I opened one eye and caught Blaze staring at me with a lazy smile and features so soft that his overall expression was damn near serendipitous. I caught him with my own smile, reaching over to trace my fingers over the soft pink flesh of his lips and line of his beautifully dark hair. Between his looks, wild animal seduction skills, unexpected sweetness and unconditional acceptance, he might just have been saving my life.
“Emmeline,” he breathed in a stage whisper, curling around me so I lay beneath him, pinned under a hard slab of hot hunk. My legs fell apart to let him settle, and with no preamble, he pushed into me and started a slow leisurely grind, far from the jack rabbit sex we used to enjoy. This was tender, heart-stopping sex and every nerve in me felt every movement he made.
His mouth closed over mine and his tongue lapped into my mouth, mimicking the movement in his hips. My hands slid under his t-shirt and absorbed every hard, flexing muscle that rippled under his skin. Small moans escaped from my throat and my eyes rolled, betraying just how lost in the moment I was. Everywhere I was, so was he, mirroring me.
He rocked into me, pushing and taunting me with slight rolls of his hips and nips at my over-sensitive skin. I was captive—hopelessly trapped in a man I never imagined could take complete control over my life for a second time.
But he had. One night together and I knew that I’d be staying in London with him.
For good.
Blaze’s breath left him in a low groan when he reached a climax that coincided with mine. He held my head still with both hands and kissed every inch of my face slowly, sweetly and almost reverently, and then rolled onto his side pulled me into his arms. We lay there silently, wrapped around each other until the buzz passed, completely still and very much awake.
“So...” he said slowly, “that was—”
“Yup.”
“Coffee?”
“Yup.” I heaved myself up onto my elbows to watch him leave the bedroom with an undeniable spring in his step. If he’d jumped and clicked his heels in the air, it couldn’t have been more obvious that he was on top of the world.
And I was right there with him. As far as wake up calls went, he was superlative, and we’d just made honest, soul-rocking love
with no primitive driving force to seek pleasure, just an expression of our love and closeness, for the first time. No third-party fantasies necessary. That made me want to curl up and purr until he came back.
I was, however, wide awake and had rewired myself to know that being up meant I needed to be at ‘em. I’d arranged with Henry to visit The Parr while it was empty for the weekend so I could get a better feel for the building. His London office was one of six worldwide he preferred to work in, but he was happy to surrender that office to me.
I didn’t want it. I was viewing the building to look at the empty rooms on the top floor to find one that called out to me. If I was staying, I wanted my own space with my own decor and ambience. I’d only really half taken to being a business woman in New York, and after I’d stopped battling Calloway on working in The Seymour, I’d enjoyed the space I had.
Calloway. Crap. That was a conversation I needed to have sooner rather than later.
Hauling myself up out of bed, I wandered into the bathroom to freshen up. It was about the time I was halfway through brushing my teeth that I looked up, caught my reflection and groaned. My hair was lank and knotted; the worst case of bed-hair I’d ever seen. It would hurt like hell to brush, so I pulled it into a scruffy plait and tossed it back over my shoulder so I didn’t have to look at it until I showered. Maybe a haircut wasn’t such a bad idea.
The smell of coffee hit me when I stepped out of the bedroom, followed by the sound of rock music humming in through my stereo system. It was a close match to the morning after Blaze took me to Monday’s Miracle’s secret gig. If this was my new normality, I wouldn’t object.
Blaze looked up from the frying pan on the cooker and quickly rushed over. “What are you doing up?” He ushered me back into the bedroom. “You shouldn’t be up for another five hours.”
“You want me to run on New York time in London?” Confused, I let him lead me back into bed and pull the covers over me. “Do you want to keep my brain on that time zone for a reason?”
“I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed, Emmeline. Starting as I mean to go on—pampering the hell out of you.”
“So you’re not trying to tell me that you want to move to New York with me?”
I saw it. I saw that flare of resistance in his eyes. I’d have been surprised if I hadn’t. “Cupcake...”
“It’s okay. I want to stay here.”
He dropped down like a stone beside me. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” I nodded, smiling while I neatened his sleep-mussed hair. “My apartment was very nice, but maybe we can redecorate this place. That’s provided you don’t, uh...” Blaze leapt up in a panic when the smoke alarm starting to warble. “... burn the place down first.”
Anorexia was not an option in my flat that morning. Blaze produced a gut-busting—if a little crispy—full English breakfast and kept his eyes fixed on me while I ate it from the comfort of bed. Being watched might have made me uneasy if it had been anyone else, but I really was just glad to be sat there with him.
Setting my cutlery aside, I leaned back with a contented sigh. As great as New York food was, nothing quite compared to a meal prepared by a grovelling boyfriend. Or was he my fiance again? When was it appropriate to ask for clarification?
Noticing my contemplative frown, Blaze reached across to toy with my plait, utilising his proven method of using distraction to encourage my honesty. “What’s bugging you?”
“Do you think I should cut my hair?” The question was out before I could stop it, but seeing as it was out there...
He pursed his lips and shifted the breakfast tray from my lap. “Is this about Devon?”
“Who?”
“My date last night.”
The face of the flimsy blonde jumped back into my mind too quickly for me to block it out. “Ugh, no. Who the hell was she anyway and what did she cost? She seemed to vanish pretty sharpish when we went back inside.”
“She cost just over four hundred.” His cheeks started to turn red. “She was an escort, Emmeline. I didn’t want to be the only one at that table alone.”Oh my God. Only basic human decency stopped me from laughing. It was sweet that he still had his pride but I couldn’t decide if ‘pride’ was a moot point when he’d hired company. “But you’re detracting from the point. Why would you cut your hair?”
Hell, I’d wanted an opinion. I hadn’t considered that he’d make me explain it. “It’s just... Does the long blonde hair, big boobs and silly glasses thing make me look—... Am I—... Do I look less respectable? Do people take me less seriously because I look like daddy’s little princess playing with Monopoly money?”
Blaze’s mouth tightened into a grim scowl, his eyes sweeping over me briefly before settling just past me over my shoulder. He didn’t say a word just... brooded. So I shuffled towards him and stroked my fingers down his arm.
“I’ve always treasured your honesty. Tell what you’re thinking. I can handle it.”
His eyes snapped to me for just a second. “I’m wondering how you can fly over to America wearing that ring and uphold your promise there, but abandon it as soon as you’re back with me.” I froze mid-stroke and stared at him, mortified. “I want you to cut your hair if you think it’s better that way. But you promised me that you wouldn’t make changes to please anyone else. So what if people take you on face value and decide your opinion means less because you’re a blonde bombshell? What does it matter when you’re so damn good at your job?”
Softening, Blaze pulled my still hand to his lips and kissed my fingers, one by one. “Henry would regale me with tales of all the good you were doing all across the States to make me feel better. He told me how you made his staff happy, and how you were so highly praised for being so approachable and attentive. This was said by people who never saw you from the shoulders down. So no, people wouldn’t respect you more for a boring exterior. Nobody who matters anyway.”
“Thank you.” I kissed him softly, both hands on his neck pawing at his hair. He needed to overrule Calloway’s words—I hadn’t realised before. “Thank you for talking some sense into me. And thank you for breakfast. I have to go take over the world.”
He stayed me by grabbing my waist when I was off the bed. “It’s the Sabbath. You can’t work.”
“I’m just going to sniff out my new office with Henry.” I turned when his fingers tightened and realised what was making him hold me so tightly. It was still too raw for him to be away from me for any length of time so soon after I’d gone, seemingly for good. I didn’t want to be away from him either, so I said, “Come with us. You’ll make sure I don’t just pick the first room we walk into.”
“Thank you.” His fingered slacked off but he pulled me back against him and rested his cheek against the small of my back.
“There’s no need to thank me.” I turned and crouched so we were eye to eye, then pointed at my face. “See this? You should know what this is by now. Don’t make me screw until you either go blind or understand.”
The Parr was so much like all of Henry’s other buildings, with it’s bold archaic colour schemes and rich gold embellishments. It housed the five most profitable of The Tudor Initiative sub-companies and was designed to tell them so. All eighteen floors and two basement levels screamed expensive luxury, providing amenities in the form of full-sized kitchens and opulent staff rooms that few other companies could have afforded to provide.
Henry indulged his money-makers; flashed his cash and bestowed them with outlandish job enrichment opportunities, lavish salaries and barely feasible incentive schemes that would ensure they would neither revolt against him nor find jobs that could compare. Vacancies were in high demand and considered a privilege.
Until they were locked inside...
Naturally, I’d found the one room on the top floor that was nothing like the rest of the building. Henry had paced impatiently while Blaze and I had checked out the five available spaces near his own colossal office and looked thoroughly impress
ed when I told him none of them ‘felt’ right. They were all grand, to be sure, but none of them felt like they had the potential to be anything other than empty.
On the second run, I found a room that had been relegated to storage. It was big enough, with floor to ceiling windows that overlooked a charming, well-tamed garden with an ornamental wishing well where the building’s personnel were free to take their breaks and lunch.
Right at the back was a high wall, cutting the garden off from the outside world, and nailed to it were three strips of trellis. When I found out that it was ensnared by fresh green ivy, and would be shared by honeysuckle in the warmer months, my mind was made up. I knew Henry could see the garden from his office, too, and I thought it was an unexpected but lovely way to remind him of my mother while we worked—far more meaningful than a photograph on his desk.
Though the fight to make that room mine had been a tough one. Henry said that it was too small and unbecoming, too secluded and quaint for a woman of my ‘status’. I argued that it was better not having an office at all, and that my flat would be too small to be multifunctional. He jokingly said he’d just buy me a new house, and I jokingly accepted, quipping that I needed a few extra rooms for his future grandchildren, an indoor pool and a home gym.
That got him.
“Damned if I’ll let you have a gym, girl. I draw the line there,” he told me while we were in his ‘war room’, looking for the numbers of the weekend relief workers who could find a new home for the boxes that encumbered my new office and a designer who would help me personalise it. “But don’t complain to me when you decide you don’t like it because I shan’t let you pick another.”