by Lee, Corri
"I know what you're doing," I muttered, pulling the ring from the box and passing it to him. If he was going to make these kind of assertions, he was damn well going to make sure I didn't make a fool of myself by misinterpretation. "Something to the same effect as pissing up me?"'
"Ah," he tugged at my hands gently until I was persuaded to snuggle under the sheets with him, "that obvious, is it? What can I say? My mother never quite convinced me that I should share my toys."
So the ring came with a promise of acceptance and exclusivity. "So which finger is the 'right' finger?" I heaved myself over onto my side, propping my head up with my hand so I could look at him, daring him with my eyes to be bold. "Why don't you blast some of that infamous Blaze honesty at me and tell me where you envisage this... ridiculously extravagant proposition?"
"Emmeline." He quickly flipped me onto my back and nestled between my legs, trapping my lip between his teeth. "I want it wrapped around your heart so you feel it there with every beat. But instead, I'll settle with wherever is going to keep you with me the longest."
The loop slid onto my left ring finger— a perfect fit— weighted but comfortable, something I'd soon adjust to. In a strange way, wearing it made me feel settled, like the open edges around that Blaze shaped space in my heart fused shut around him and kept him locked in. It was an unusual kind of serenity that had never occurred in my life before but would live on as long as the man who kissed me like his life depended on it kept his Saturdays free for the little nerd who could.
PINCHING my temples, I shook my head at the hand wrapped around my fresh mug of coffee. Blaze had started out sweetly, gently rocking my soul with sweet love-making, but quickly lost control and turned back to the white knuckle, breath-taking screwing we were so good at, and then honoured his wish to not let me fall asleep. It was a revelation. I got to see how he glowed. For the first time, I witnessed the kick he got from seeing me recover from mind-blowing sex— the pure joy he got from seeing me quivering from the orgasms he'd induced. I wanted to collapse face first into my coffee and snore.
"Jesus H. Christ. Mrs Emmeline Lundy."
He snorted behind me and set a plate down in front of me that was giving off the most amazing meaty aroma. I looked up and saw that it was a thick, hearty beef broth he'd obviously made from scratch. "Let's not inflict that on you. Eat."
Reluctantly, I picked up the spoon and took a small slurp of the soup, groaning when the flavours hit my palate. There was nothing the man couldn't do well. "You might be worth keeping."
"Is that right?" Smiling, he picked up his own spoon and held it over his bowl. His gaze strayed to my hand and the ring looking quite at home on it. "You know, that ring comes with a matching dress."
"A dress?" I gaped up at him in alarm. "Is it white?"
"What? White? No, it's— Oh. Ohh..." He laughed and shook his head. "Give me some credit, Emmeline. I've seen how fast you can run, I'd never catch you if I hit you with that dress. The ring is enough... for now." He caught the frantic glint in my eye and winked. "Anyway, the dress I meant is green. Very modest and demure but very sexy. I have great visions of peeling it off you after tonight."
My eyes narrowed slightly. "What's tonight?"
"We have invitations to my photographer friend's mixer tonight— the friend I was helping last night. It's back down at The Roses again."
I frowned, put off by the idea of spending another Saturday in the venue he didn't know I owned. "That's kind of a big place for a mixer, right?"
"That's Nelly. She likes to mix. It's a pretty long guest list full of business types and big cheeses. It's an open bar." Despite thawing a little, I couldn't help but feel like it was all a little high profile and too risky, crammed full of Henry's associates.
"I can't come. It'll be too crowded and I'll get overwhelmed, then my sweaty panicked face will be all over the tabloids tomorrow. You'll be known for having flaky dates, and worse, there'll be a ring on my finger. That could go either way."
"It's a masquerade mixer." He crossed his arms and arched a brow at me like that nugget of information should have made a difference. It did, sort of. "I won't leave you on your own in a room full of strangers. I won't even leave your side. Your sweaty face will be hidden, you won't have to talk to anyone beyond a polite hello, and I'm more than happy to clear up any speculation over that ring." He heaved himself up and crept around the table towards me, slowly and cat like. "And afterwards, I'm going to screw you to sleep before you have a chance to undress. It'll be rough, because I'll have waited all night and spent the evening looking at you dressed in silk that clings to that great rack of yours and skims the legs I'm quite fond of being between."
"Are you trying to entice me with the promise of sex that was already a given?"
"It's not a given if I have to go without you..."
"Oh, mean!" But effective. The threat of having to spend another night not being thrown down into bed and feasted on made my chest ache. I probably would have done anything to stay close to him at that point. "You won't make me talk to anyone? And I'll be wearing a mask? Oh jeez, alright. Who's hosting it?"
"Cornelia Alexander." I went stiff. Cornelia Alexander's mixer. Shit. One place I could guarantee to bump into people who knew me, least not Cornelia herself. And my family, oh god. What would he think when he found out about my family? What would my family think to find out I was engaged?
"I think I'm still ill," I lied. "I need to lay down."
"Emmeline..." The way he sighed my name had an edge of irritation that reminded me of Hunter. "This is my life— my tapestry. I love my tapestry, every single thread. Especially the white ones." My breath caught at the way he projected the double meaning of that comment right at me. If I'd needed reassurance of how he felt— like the ring wasn't enough— he'd given it to me. "I want to believe that it loves me back... Enough to grow a pair and put on a pretty dress to drink some free wine with me."
"Emotional blackmail now?" I rubbed at my heavy eyes before I grabbed at my coffee, sorely wishing I'd been allowed to nap. He wanted me to go, I got it. The guilt trip wasn't necessary. "Show me the fucking dress."
THE ROSES LOOKED otherworldly, bathed in pale blue lights rigged to temporary ceiling scaffolding and decorated in silver. I had to double take back into the lobby to be sure that this old theatre— my theatre— was the same one I'd stood in three weeks earlier.
Blaze urged me by the elbow into the auditorium so I'd stop bottlenecking the flow of executives and minor celebrities flowing in behind me, and I took a moment to drink him in. Even though the mixer wasn't black tie, he'd donned his three piece suit and a vivid green tie that any other man of lesser beauty might have found difficult to carry off. For the first time since we met, I felt like he might have pulled out all the stops to look like an even match to me.
Viridian satin flowed around my ankles, iridescently shimmering between green and blue as it moved. The modest sweetheart cut gown flared out into a fishtail skirt at my knees, clinging tightly to every curve up to my shoulders, which were covered by delicate ivory lace sewn into the satin, reaching down to my elbows.
The Venetian eye-mask I wore was a matching hue and decorated in trails of silver glitter, the ribbon holding it around my head causing no interference to the tumble of golden curls pinned to gather and fall over my right shoulder. Apparently the dimple that creased my cheek made my left side the best. All in all, I felt comfortably hidden but perfectly glamorous, and for once not overshadowed by the gorgeous masked mystery man at my side.
"Ready?" I blinked in reply. His black Phantom of the Opera mask covered half his face but really didn't dull his looks in the slightest. I was still completely dazzled. "I'll take that look on your face as a yes."
"This look?" I pointed at my face. "This fucklust stare you can't see properly."
"I can see it perfectly well, Emmeline." Gathering my left hand up in both of his, Blaze kissed the emerald set into my ring. "Don't steal my word."
&
nbsp; I calmed a little with every step deeper into the room, giving up my mission to guess at who people were after the fifth or so little huddle of faceless socialites. The idea that if I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me, was a comfort and I took a cleansing breath to gather myself. The many clusters of tables suggested that the place would be packed out to the rafters, improving the chances of avoiding my family.
Blaze lead me to our table, right at the head of the room with the largest calla lily centrepiece. When I enquired with a frown, he pointed out the cards labelling the places for Cornelia Alexander, her two brothers and their respective plus ones, explaining that his help the night before had earned us top table privileges. Not to mention that Cornelia's brother owned the label that had signed Monday's Miracle.
I grabbed two champagne flutes from a passing drinks server's tray and passed one to him. "To complications and 'fuck it's."
"Mazel tov!"
We kept our hands linked while Blaze ambled the room, imparting perfunctory hello's and anecdotes to the mega-moguls and their wives who all fell under his spell and regarded me with looks of well-meaning envy. I lucked out with him and I knew it, and found myself falling even deeper for him as I listened to the lilting cadence of his voice. The words made no sense, just the smooth even rhythm and the way his mouth moved reminded me that I'd feel those lips all over me in a few hours— less if I got my way— and the seductive sweet nothings that would spill out of them when we got home and spent our first 'real' night together.
He didn't break the flow of his conversation when he felt me shiver with anticipation but he smirked. He knew what he was doing to me and he was damned happy about it.
BLAZE fussed when he left my side to answer a call of nature, restlessly straightening my hair and mask while he asked incessantly if I'd survive without him. An uneventful hour and too many glasses of champagne made me feel brave, and if it hadn't, the scotch I was planning on ordering while he was in the bathroom would have. I couldn't resist watching him as he walked away, blatantly checking out what was mine, only turning back to wait my turn in line when he was safely out of sight.
He took a while to come back. I'd suspected he'd get trapped in a few conversations en route so I didn't let it play on my mind. Instead, I traded a knowing glance with the copper haired woman sheathed in silver who leaned back against the bar next to me, red faced under a mask much like my own and shimmering with sweat.
"Scotch on the rocks." She nodded at my drink. "My kind of woman." I knew immediately who she was from her clipped, rich and brutally British accent that would have put the Queen to shame.
"Quickie at your own high profile mixer. My kind of woman." Her mouth dropped open for a second before she dipped down and pulled my chin up to look at my eyes. "Cornelia."
"Emmy, good god! Is that really you?" Stepping back, she walked in a circle around me, scrutinising me from every angle, coming back to stand in front of me and toy with my hair. "You look stunning. The blonde looks great. But your father said you weren't coming."
"Ah," I grabbed my glass to hide behind it, "I'm not here with the family. I'm here as a plus one."
"Come again?" She didn't even try to not act surprised. "Have you run out of hearts to break?"
"Oh no, I almost certainly have at least one more, though I'm hoping to hang onto it."
"I see. So..." Cornelia scanned the room over her shoulder and squinted. "You're not here with Derek because he's old and paunchy... Joseph is here with his 'wife' and my brothers are both, how do I put it, 'preoccupied' with their women... You're not with him..."— she looked somewhat smugly at a savagely attractive dark haired man sans mask laughing with Blaze— "because he's mine. And some lucky young lady has just snagged the man with him."
"Oh?" Turning to look in the direction of Blaze, I took another sip of scotch to hide my amusement. "Recently?"
"Mm-hmm. Such a shame because you'd have gotten on so well. I had to travel down to the Pearce & Parker office in Birmingham yesterday to approve of the ring he picked out. So nervous, he was. Planned to pop the question tonight but changed his mind this morning and decided to keep it private. Such a shame, I do love a good proposal."
I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, bracing myself to reveal the news for the first time. "It needed flowers."
"Emmy!" Cornelia nudged me in the ribs with her elbow and flashed me one of her stunning model smiles. I knew that smile was genuine, having spent a period of time sneaking out of galas and dinner parties with her, drinking heavily to escape in more ways than one and rambling. She had some idea of how rough my life had been and she was glad to see me with some stability in my life. "He adores you. You know that, don't you?"
"I think so," I breathed, "I adore him too. He's done me so much good."
"It shows. What do your family think of him?"
Averting my eyes, I turned back to the bar and kept my eyes fixed on the rows of spirit optics. "They don't know. He doesn't know about my family. I'm hoping to avoid it if possible."
"That might be difficult—" Cornelia tapped my shoulder and pointed out in Blaze's direction, "— as he's talking to your father."
Fourteen
MY LEGS SHOOK like leaves as I tentatively approached what appeared to be a far too friendly conversation. Henry talked animatedly while Blaze rocked back on his heels to laugh at the right moments— a silky warm caress of a laugh I could hear over the music and the hundreds of voices around us. Nobody would doubt that they were familiar, probably trading boyish jibes and quips.
My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I got closer, making me feel sick and dizzy. Somehow, their voices echoed over everything too.
"No, New York sorely needs someone to go out and throw their weight around at The Seymour. I just don't have the time to go myself and Tallulah is a halfwit."
"Is your youngest still refusing to partake in the family business?"
"Blaze, my boy— I would do anything to get my little ball-buster in and Tally out. I still maintain that you'd get on like a house on fire. You could be good for her."
"Sorry, old chap. I've very recently acquired a ball-buster of my own."
Blaze looked in my direction the same moment my step faltered— he muttered something to Henry and they laughed. "Henry," he beamed and reached out to curl an arm around my waist when I was close enough, "this is my very significant other." Politely, I offered my hand and kept my eyes fixed down. The minute he saw them, he'd know. They're were too much like my mother's; too keen and all-seeing. They told my story with a single blink.
"Miss White, yes?" I nodded. "Not very talkative, are you?"
"She's here under sufferance. I've just brought her to show her off."
"At a masquerade party? Daft sod."
They went on with their conversation like I wasn't even there. I was horrified to find out that Blaze knew Henry. Well. Our mothers had been close before money stole the soul from our family and the only reason we hadn't met before was because Blaze was older than me. While I was sneaking vodka from the liquor cabinet and binging on tea cakes, he was behind the scenes with the adults, dazzling them with his fierce intelligence.
The men talked more about the business troubles in New York; the staff over there were becoming apathetic as their creative minds began to dry up and too much money was being pooled into morale boosting incentive schemes. Not that money and a lack of it was ever a real issue for Henry. I could identify his mistakes just from witnessing that single conversation, though I'd never tell him as such. I wouldn't help him manipulate people.
The only time I was engaged in the conversation was when Henry asked to see my ring and I surrendered it silently without argument. "Beautiful, just beautiful. Like the young lady hiding beneath that mask, I suspect." He released my hand and thumped Blaze on the shoulder. "I've taken up enough of your evening. Show the lady how real men dance."
I could barely believe I'd escaped undetected.
Blaze led me out onto the
area of the auditorium directly in front of the stage which had been designated as a dance floor, and wrapped himself around me like a cloak. My rising intoxication levels made it an experience of sensory overload— seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling, and if he kissed me, taste him. He did, and it was only the fact of feeling Henry's eyes on me that stopped me getting indecent.
Blaze moved with his usual grace and refinement, swaying me to Glory Box, a song I'd listened to a lot in the four days I thought he was gone for good. His cheek rested against my head while we moved and the lyrics hummed in his chest. For a moment, I forgot we were surrounded by people. If we'd been stood there naked I wouldn't have cared. I was the calmest I'd felt in years. Maybe ever.
"Are you bored? You're very quiet. You could have spoken to Henry, he's not all that bad."
Nestling into him, I ran my hands up to the lapels of his blazer, feeling the ridges of muscle underneath the fabric. He'd toned up since we'd met, no doubt from the way he'd picked me up and carried me around so much. "What was I supposed to say to him? Tell him that he should stop frittering money away on new property and ventures and focus on what he already has? That throwing money at a problem doesn't make it go away and comfort can't be bought? His employees are flailing through lack of leadership, not lack of inspiration." I lifted my head to look at Blaze's arched brow. "What? I'm not as stupid as I look. That 'dumb blonde' stereotype is only fifty percent accurate."
"You've done a survey of blondes?"
"No, you're either a dumb blonde or you're not. Fifty-fifty." I rolled my eyes as I watched the logic click into place and rested my face over his heart, enjoying feeling it thrum beneath me. Even in that highly charged nightmare environment, I felt unruffled and comfortable, even if the stupid mask was digging into my face.
I closed my eyes and we danced for what felt like an eternity. Fantasies of living this peacefully with him forever unfolded in my imagination along with plans I'd never admit to making out loud. I wondered how our life together would work around his job, if I'd meet the woman he looked after and if I'd end up looking after her too. It was always going to be complicated between us, but that wouldn't stop me committing myself to a life in the firestorm. That much was sealed the moment we fell for each other in that dressing room and I wouldn't let myself regret it any more than I regretted falling in love with Hunter. Both of them were bad for me but gave my life meaning and drive.