by Lindsey Hart
“It’s not,” Colette said while she did her best to skewer him with the glower of all glowers. “Just you. You promised you’d be on your best behavior, then you staged getting soap in your eyes just because you knew I’m a sucker.”
“That was not staged. That burned like hell. I promise you, sweetheart, the soap had nothing to do with it. If I would have walked out of that bathroom naked, you would have-”
“See! This is exactly what I mean! You ruin everything, Blaze. Everything.” Colette swiveled forward again, her arms tucked around her like she could ward him off with her pouty anger.
Fat chance. That just made her hotter. His cock stood to attention like she was whispering sweet nothings to it. If only she knew how hot she was when she was being petulant. When she was trying not to look at him because she knew that he’d see how badly she wanted him.
“I wasn’t trying to ruin anything,” he admitted, letting the honestly bleed into his voice, turning it soft. Softer than he’d ever been with anyone. He could tell that she was listening by the way her spine stiffened. “Seriously. I wanted this to be a nice, fun getaway. I tried to think of something you wouldn’t have ever done before. I didn’t mean to ruin it. All of it. And as for what happened at the hotel- if you never want it to happen again, I’m not going to pretend that I’m okay with that, because I’d very much like it to happen. Regularly. I didn’t send those flowers as some kind of joke. I know I’m an asshole. That I’m cold and impossible and you hate me. But maybe, under all the layers of perversion and evil, maybe I’m just a person too. Maybe I have a heart. Maybe it’s lonely.”
Colette snorted. “I doubt it. Any of it. As for the tea, you can take it and shove it up your-”
The plane hit a pocket of turbulence before she could finish her sentence. Colette screamed and gripped onto anything she could find, which just happened to be his arm. He didn’t try to make his muscles bulge under her hand. They did that all on their own, while he rode out the wind pocket and piloted them out of the turbulence safely.
“What the hell,” Colette panted. “This was the worst date I’ve ever been on.”
“Let me make it up to you. One cup of tea. Just one. Then I’ll burn the contract right in front of you. I swear it.”
“And you’ll give me a promotion,” Colette huffed.
“Resorting to blackmail now? I like it.”
“Go to hell.”
He felt his lips twitch. “You did promise me today. I promised you the contract. Maybe we can talk about a promotion later.”
“Not if it means doing what you think I’m going to do for it.”
“The whole office probably thinks you’re doing it anyway, ever since I sent those flowers.”
“That’s part of the bargain. I gave you today. You said you’d tear up the contact and clear up any misunderstandings about that. Tell them it was meant for someone else. They’ll get the idea. I passed out from shock. It’s believable.”
I don’t want it to be. He nodded, though, and Colette went back to studying the window and gripping her knees like the ground was going to rush up to meet them at any second. He’d negotiated a few more hours out of her. He was going to have to make the most of them to convince her that there was no way in hell she should want him to let her go.
For the first time ever, he found that he didn’t want to.
He wasn’t sure which was a more terrifying prospect. Giving up on her or being worthy of her giving them a chance.
CHAPTER 17
Colette
Colette knew she shouldn’t have agreed to go to Blaze’s house. Not for tea. Not for anything. It was a terrible idea and she wished she could have refused, but like with everything else, Blaze wore her down with his charm and animal magnetism and he got his way.
She expected the high rise he’d mentioned. A penthouse condo at the very top floor. Something new and luxurious and ultra-modern. Soulless and cold, like its owner, decorated impersonally, barely lived in, a colossal waste of money and a huge fuck you, with its excess, to everyone out there struggling to afford just the basic necessities of living.
Instead, she was shocked to find that Blaze was just trying to get a rise out of her with the penthouse bullshit.
When he pulled up outside a warehouse in the area of the city where many of the old buildings, ancient factories and brick monoliths from another time, had been converted into expensive, fashionable living, she was more than a little confused.
She cast a glance at him from beneath her eyelashes. “What are we doing here? I thought you lived in a ritzy neighborhood with a doorman who makes a quarter mil a year protecting the lives of the rich and famous.”
Blaze’s hands tightened on the wheel, like he was actually nervous. He’d picked her up in something she hadn’t expected. An antique truck. Even fully restored it was rustic and basically uncomfortable. It rumbled down the road and was overly loud for her taste, but even she had to admit, it was beautiful. Almost like a work of art, too pretty to actually drive.
“Yeah, well, I don’t like the entire world knowing my business. It’s bad enough that if you search my name on the internet, you can find out whatever you want. I’d like to keep a few aspects private. My address is one of them, so I actually have the house under a different name.”
“What?”
Blaze turned to study her as he pulled up beside a huge brick building. It towered, four stories high, with strange juts and build-outs all over what should have been a square roofline.
He studied her intently, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was staring at her. She squirmed in her seat, disgusted with herself for actually enjoying his attention.
“I have it under a different name.”
“Don’t people recognize you?”
“No. Not really. Most people here are pretty normal. They work hard and they’re busy with their lives. They don’t pay any attention to the single guy coming and going first thing in the morning and getting home late at night.”
“But the truck. It probably draws some attention?”
“I might be rich, but a lot of people around here also have money. Owning classic cars gets some interest, but people are more interested in the vehicle than in me. It’s a good distraction. I’m no celebrity either. People don’t really give a shit that I might be on billboards or own a business. If they know who I am, they don’t really give a shit. I live here, just like the rest of them. Eat, sleep and breathe, just like everyone else.”
“Except I’m sure you do it in much nicer surroundings.”
Blaze ejected himself out of the truck and walked around to her side. He actually held her door open for her and waited until she got out. “I guess that remains to be seen.”
Colette braced herself. She no longer had any idea what to expect with Blaze Hanson. The fact that she could still feel his lips on her body unnerved her. Whenever he looked her way, her body went into a state of something that could only be described as complete organ failure- or maybe that was just her brain. She couldn’t stop her lady bits from shivering, her nipples from puckering under her bra, and her panties never really dried out after she’d slipped into them back at the hotel.
Hours ago.
Blaze led the way. He didn’t touch her, but she felt his commanding presence keenly, like a physical caress, even though he was at least six feet in front of her. He stopped down a long hall and after turning a corner and climbing a set of industrial metal looking stairs, he pushed open another door and rounded yet another corner.
She was dizzy and disoriented by the time he stopped in front of a red metal door. He inserted a key into the lock- no new school punch codes or retina scanning for him- and held the door open.
Colette realized he wasn’t going to let her back out so she walked past him, into the place that was distinctly his.
It might not have been a high-rise penthouse overlooking the city, but the condo was still huge. Open, with massive, raw wood beams overhead spa
nning the length of the ceiling, the walls bare red brick. The floors were ancient hardwood, beat up and left the way it probably always had been. Little touches here and there spoke to the newness of the remodel- industrial looking lights hanging from the ceiling by long black chains, stainless steel countertops in the kitchen, sleek, edgy black furniture in the area that was obviously the living room, since it boasted floor to ceiling windows that were probably fourteen feet tall at least, and overlooked a huge deck complete with blossoming greenery and overflowing planter boxes.
“Wow,” she exhaled under her breath.
She spun around, taking it all in, wishing she could hate it. Her eyes landed on the metal stairs that gave way to a wrought iron railing that overlooked half of the main floor. It was obviously the loft and thinking about Blaze sleeping up there brought back the shivery heat she’d been fighting all day in a hard rush.
“Do you like it?” Blaze’s deep, commanding voice came from behind her, and she whirled.
The heat crawled up her neckline and rushed into her cheeks before she could stop it. He should look ridiculous, in his blood and dirt stained t-shirt, his arms bandaged like that, his jeans dirty and worn. He didn’t. He didn’t look ridiculous at all. She thought about how good he’d tasted earlier, in her mouth, how her fingers felt exploring his body, the silk of his muscle and the crisp edges of his hairs, the striated veins that ran just below the surface, a life-giving river. She thought about sinking her nails into his delicious bottom while she was on her knees and how she’d wanted to turn him around and lick him there too. Something innocent, along his rock-hard cheek, before she bit him, just to see if her teeth would actually sink into his flesh or if he truly was a living, breathing statue.
God, she was pathetic.
Completely inappropriate. Blaze was her boss for eff sakes.
“I- it’s alright,” she rasped breathlessly, when Blaze cocked a brow. He studied her intently, like he could read her thoughts, and that only made the heat in her face that much worse. “I mean, yeah, it’s nice.”
“Thanks for the backward compliment. I think.” Blaze’s voice rattled around in her chest, the flames of his tone devouring and curling around all her sensitive organs.
Like her heart, for one.
“You chose the place. You obviously thought it was alright. You don’t need my approval.”
“Right.” Blaze nodded solemnly, and she had the impression he was mocking her, even though his face was back to being shuttered off, giving nothing away and his voice was completely flat. “How about that tea I promised you?”
“Do you really have tea? Here I thought that was a ploy just to get me here so that you could try and serve up something else?”
Blaze stiffened. “Oh? What would that be?”
You. And she was stupid enough to let him drag her there. Okay, he hadn’t dragged her at all. It was the promise that he’d made, about burning that contract, that got her in the front door. Liar, liar, pants on fire. Her pants were definitely not on fire. Soaked, maybe, but fire- well, maybe. It did feel an awful lot like there were flames licking up her legs.
“Nothing,” she hissed. “I want to watch you make this tea. Make sure that you’re doing it right.”
“Make sure I don’t slip anything nefarious into your drink?”
“Something like that,” she snorted.
Blaze stalked off towards the kitchen. All she had to do was pivot from her spot in the middle of the huge living room, since the place was all wide open, to watch him walk behind the clean lines of the industrial looking countertops. The cupboards were a flat black construction along the bottom, with huge, raw wooden shelves lining the walls. It was industrial looking and was a perfect match for the rest of the place.
Blaze moved deftly in the kitchen, getting down two mugs and taking a kettle out from the bottom cupboard. He filled it at the huge stainless sink and plugged it into the wall. He surprised her by getting out a box of tea, the kind of thing that he probably got for Christmas from his mom or something. It looked like one of those expensive, gifty type samplers.
He looked at home in his own place, comfortable and unguarded. It was strange seeing him there like that, in an intimate setting, when all she’d known was the Blaze from the office who was completely untouchable. Someone she'd never be able to relate to.
His arms had to be killing him, but if they hurt, he didn’t show it. The kettle boiled and he poured two cups of hot water and pushed the sampler box onto the counter, towards the edge where four metal bar stools, the square, hard, unsuitable looking type, sat tucked.
“Go ahead. Pick what you want.”
“Do you actually drink this stuff?” she asked bitingly, to cover the fact that her lungs currently felt two sizes too small for her body. “Or did some girl you were dating leave it at your place by accident?”
He turned, giving her his back as he picked out his own teabag. He tore the packet open and tucked it into his mug. “That would be to imply that I date. Which I don’t. So no. Sorry. No bad tea voodoo here. It’s safe for consumption, though I’d let that water cool down before I gave it a try.”
Colette barely refrained from sticking her tongue out at him like a child. She wanted to provoke him to bite, to spar with her, and when he didn’t, she felt strangely disappointed. Like he’d given her that crack of an opening, that tiny fissure in his armor, but she’d chosen instead to stitch it back up instead of edging underneath, where she truly wanted to be.
She leaned up against the hard steel counter while she slid the box in her direction. There was quite an assortment, everything from green tea to white to black to chai. She chose a chai tea vanilla blend, ripped open the package, and nearly sighed at the sweet and spicy aroma before she tucked it into the plain white mug. Her stomach nearly growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten lunch and it was past dinner.
“I have some leftover pizza in the fridge,” Blaze said from behind her, reading her mind. Or maybe her stomach had actually growled out loud.
Either way, she didn’t like that he anticipated what she needed.
“You actually eat pizza?” she scoffed. “You don’t look like you’ve touched a carb in your life.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Blaze chuckled as he cracked the door of a massive side by side stainless steel industrial looking fridge. A minute later he produced a cardboard takeout box and set it on the counter in front of her. “Help yourself.”
He was close. Too close. She could almost feel the heat of his body leaching into her and she gulped noisily. She cracked the lid, just to have something to do with her hands.
“Pineapple? And- and basil and jalapenos and BBQ sauce?” She did a double take, just to make sure she was seeing, and smelling, correctly.
“Yup. Love it. Don’t diss it ‘til you try it.”
“Gross. Pineapple is a sin on pizza.”
“So pick it off, princess. It’s not like I have much else to offer.”
She could think of a few things he had to offer, but of course she bit that comment back. She really was starved, so she dipped in and took a piece. It was easy to grab, since it was cold. She brought it to her mouth and took a tentative bite.
Jesus, it was good. The sauce hit her taste buds and the spice of the jalapenos, the tang of the basil, and the sweetness of the pineapple all combined into perfection. It made her despise Blaze that much more for being right.
As she chewed, he helped himself to a piece and nearly shoved it all into his mouth. He devoured it in a few bites and took another, chewing while he watched her.
“You have some cream for that tea?” she bit out, unnerved to have his gaze roaming over her. He felt too close, and not just because of their proximity.
Blaze stalked over to the fridge wordlessly. He produced a carton, set it down in front of her, and actually walked back over and shut the fridge with his foot.
He seemed very casual at home. Very un-rich. Very… very normal.
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And incredibly sexy.
Colette helped herself to another piece of pizza. She grabbed the cream and angled away so that she couldn’t see Blaze, but she swore she could still smell him, the scent of his skin, his musky, dark, spicy scent clung to every inch of the house. Tantalizing her. Tormenting her.
She sat her ass down on the stool, finished her pizza, and poured cream in her tea and brought the mug to her nose, just so she could inhale that instead.
Unfortunately, Blaze didn’t get the memo about her wanting some personal space. He pulled out the stool next to her and sat down, sipping at his own tea. Which was strange, too. Watching him drink tea. Like he actually enjoyed it.
“Tell me something,” she found herself saying. “Tell me something I’d never guess about you in a million years.”
His brows pulled together so slowly, it was almost comical. “Why?” He took another long sip of his tea. “For more blackmail? I already told you I’d burn the contract and fix the dating disaster at the office. You don’t need any more ammo.”
“It’s for the promotion you didn’t agree to yet.”
He studied her, his eyes burning right through her. He shifted uneasily in his chair and when he opened his mouth, he shocked the hell out of her. She never expected him to say something personal. On any level. His words didn’t just cross that line, they obliterated it completely.
“My name isn’t really Blaze Hanson. I grew up in Chicago to parents who hated each other. My mom left when I was nine. Couldn’t take it anymore. My dad was a drunk. He was a good-looking fucker so he screwed around with anyone stupid enough to listen to his tale of woe. He liked to pretend I didn’t exist. Those were the good nights. The other nights, when he suddenly remembered he had a kid, he liked to blame me for all his troubles and knock me around. I always swore to myself that I’d kill him. That I’d get back at him for hating me and hurting me. He was the one who broke my wrist. It didn’t happen snowboarding like I told everyone. And then, one night, he called me to pick his drunk ass up from the bar. I was seventeen. Just got my license a few months before and suddenly he wanted to try and be a pal and ask me for rides. Do the right thing and shit. I liked driving. Always did. He bought me this old muscle car. Said we’d restore it, like he actually gave a shit. I was driving sober. The bastard who hit us was drunk. Go fucking figure. My father didn’t have a seatbelt on, and he ejected through the windshield. He died instantly. So, I guess, I made good on my promise. I killed my father.”