Blazed(34)

"Go on." I was interested to hear what he had that could possibly distract me from the irritation I was trying to harbour, and failing.

Stroking a hand up to my nape, he buried his face into my hair and took a long, deep breath of me. His exhale was so soft I was barely sure he'd done it until he spoke. "The most beautiful of us are the most messed up inside because we need something to make up for the way the world has f*cked us over. The more beautiful we are, the more muddled up we are below the surface. The ugly people are the simple souls who've had straight forward lives, and that's why two fuglies can have beautiful children. They're not wise or experienced enough to shield them from what might lay in wait." Again, my mind strayed to my sister, a woman ugly inside and out who never suffered with the rest of her family. There was some substance to this theory, but what did he have inside that made him feel less gorgeous than he was?

"The scientist in me wants to point out that looks are determined by genetics. That's like saying that some people are biochemically predisposed to misery. That's bleak."

"It is. So is life. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met and admittedly the most f*cked up." Blaze nuzzled my neck and planted a kiss in the hollow below my ear. "But definitely the most beautiful." His lips strayed across my jaw until they reached mine, then parted to let his tongue dip into my mouth. He groaned when I did, pulling my legs around so I straddled him and combing his hands into my hair. "God, I've missed your noises. Did I win my forgiveness?"

"Almost," I breathed, "you just need to explain one hole in that theory. If we're more beautiful because we've suffered—" I paused to graze his Cupid's bow with my lips, "— why do we have our scars?"

"Because we're not beyond hope."



THE moment our lips touched again, Blaze scooped me up and carried me over the cushion arrangement, laying prone across me when he laid me down across them like a goddess.

"We're doing this wrong," he muttered, "stop being irresistible."

"Right back at you." Ignoring my grunt of objection, he jumped up with a grin and ducked behind one of the privacy screens to recover a wicker picnic basket lined with the same red gingham as my dress. "Is this part of the 'date' experience?"

"It is. Do you like it?"

"I do. I feel like a queen."

Grin softening, Blaze reached across to stroke the backs of his fingers across my cheek. "You are a queen. I should have said on Sunday, but you're a stunning blonde. I feel honoured to be in such company." I could do nothing but whimper feebly, feeling my cheeks heat like they usually did around him. Those days without him seemed so distant already, just like he'd dispelled the void left by ten days the week before.

The picnic basket held a cornucopia of fruits and cheeses with water biscuits and crackers to accompany the chilled wine brought to us by the restaurant manager, who had obviously been waiting for some kind of covert sign to interrupt. As all time first dates went, this, like it's organiser, would be the one that probably ruined me for other men. When nothing else would compare, how could he possibly not expect the world to not hold him to high ideals?

Basking in the sun lounged across the cushions, sedate and ready to eat despite the lingering sores in my mouth, Blaze topped off my glass of wine and spread himself out next to me, propped up on one elbow. He looked stunning, draped in bespoke tailored threads that fit every fine curve and ridge of his body perfectly. I'd seen enough men in suits to know that they usually made the man. Blaze was an exception and very much made the suit.

"So how was your week?" Oh. That was a loaded question and I had no idea which direction the barrel was facing when I squeezed the trigger.

"Dubious. I've been unwell."

"Oh." He sat up slightly, looking alarmed.

I waved my hands dismissively around my head, wanting to discourage him from any thoughts that the illness had involved any kind of sharp implements or appetite suppressants. "Nothing serious, I'm just a little run down. But you've probably noticed that from the state of the flat." He raised his hand with the palm flat as a confession that he'd let himself in. Part of me knew he'd have tidied up again when he was there. It was strangely comforting to know he imposed himself on my personal space that way, like it was his space too.

"You moved me out." He sounded amused but I knew he would have felt a little disheartened when he saw the box full of his personal effects on the coffee table. They were probably back in their old places too. He had to know that I was a sure thing. "This date was really a ploy to win you back. I was just going to drop by Double Booked until I saw that something a little more drastic was necessary."

"Storming me at work would have done the job nicely. Though in the future, let's agree to save our pride. I didn't call you because I was waiting for you to call me first." I was begrudged to admit that Esme had told me to swallow that pride and I'd ignored her. All of the paranoia could have been avoided, but I wouldn't have been treated to the spectacular picnic. "I still don't understand how you can just accept that I'm hopelessly fixated on my best friend."

Blaze jutted his bottom lip out thoughtfully. "Well, he barely knows you're alive, is rude to you, and I'm guessing he's not going to call off his wedding to whisk you away?"

I petulantly mimicked his expression and scowled. "Your insensitive point?"

"My point," he half-laughed, "is that I don't know the guy. I barely know his name and don't know what he looks like, and it's highly unlikely that he's going to pose some sort of threat, particularly if you're no longer talking. So how is this any different to you having, I don't know, an obsession with a celebrity?"

"I do have an obsession with a celebrity," I said dryly, seeking to look as hostile as possible and failing miserably. Blaze was my celebrity crush realised, even if I had only seen a limited sampling of his work. It wasn't something I'd cared to seek out with the real thing making eyes at me. I suspected my flagrant disregard for his status might have made me a more attractive prospect. "You make me crazy." Both the good and bad subtypes.

"Crazy enough to make plans?" He laughed at my horrified expression and carried on with his train of thought regardless. My life didn't involve making plans. I didn't nurture dreams and ambitions to shield myself from future disappointment and reasons to beat myself up. Hell, I didn't even have them. "I know it's just July, but how would you feel about coming home with me for Christmas?"

I scoffed softly into my glass, knowing that I definitely wasn't the type of woman any sensible man took home to meet his mother. Hi, how are you doing? I'm the daughter of one of the richest men on the planet, though I live like a bum after having some kind of inwardly psychotic breakdown, evident from my collection of spectacular cutting scars. She'd be skittering around to hide the steak knives in seconds. "Isn't that something 'real' couples do?"

"Well, there are magazines all over the country saying that's what we are and you did say that you felt the same way about both me and your ex-friend in Japan..."

"Oh." I stilled, making a brief mental reconstruction of the Sunday conversation that had brought us to this point. I'd quite incontrovertibly told him that I was in love with Hunter. "I did." And then, more forcefully, I repeated, "I did," and sealed it with a stiff nod so he knew that I'd meant it and hadn't made the claim flippantly. It was the best way I could think to tell him how I felt about him without tarnishing the sentiment with something that had meant little when cast my way. I didn't want to spoil our connection with annoying emotional buzzwords that had a habit of making an easy arrangement too much to stomach.

"Well then," Blaze tipped his glass to me, smoothing an invisible crease in his waistcoat, "home for Christmas it is."

"Incidentally, where is 'home'?"

"Incidentally," he set his glass down and shuffled around onto all fours, prowling towards me with feline grace, "Cardiff. We could drop by your folks place en route, but I would like you to stay with me." So would I. The idea of sitting across from Henry, Ivy and Tallulah for Boxing Day breakfast in the ostentatious dining room in a manor house so ridiculously expensive made me feel ill— them too I suspected, as they spent most of their time living out of hotels in London so they were closer to me. How long could I keep that last nugget of information under my belt? I'd revealed enough secrets already without piling 'by the way, Daddy's a billionaire' on top of the precariously balanced tower of our fractious relationship.

"Sounds great." I fidgeted to mask the telling shiver that slid through me. The five month period before that event was more than long enough to build up the courage to part ways with the last hurdle between me and the finish line, if we even lasted that long.