Blazed(35)

"Hmm." Blaze hummed at me, blatantly analysing my expression. He at least had the decency to read it wrong. "How about something a little more short term?"

"Come again?"

"Plans." Face impassive, he pulled a cheeseboard from the bottom of the picnic basket and began to prepare a selection of hard and soft cheeses for our crackers. "Personally, I would like to spend the next three weeks possessing your life."

"More than usual?" I snorted, draining my glass and happily accepting the refill he offered.

"Unequivocally more. I might go as far as forecasting three weeks of Emmydays." His face softened at my confusion. "My 'caree', as you once put it, is holidaying in Normandy with her mother. I understand that there's the matter of your work and sleeping arrangements, but I'd like t—" I cut him off with a squeal before he could finish his sentence and launched myself towards him with a girlish gusto I didn't know I was capable of. I wanted to be greedy with his time, take advantage of his freedom to be something near normal with him. With no Hunter on the scene, my attention was centred on him and he deserved it, as much as he deserved me fighting for the fresh start I'd woken up lusting after.

His hand crept up the curve of my thigh until it met the fabric of my dress. "You know, we have this terrace to ourselves all afternoon with 'do not disturb' orders hammered into the staff..."

"They couldn't possibly 'disturb' me more if they tried." Craning his neck, Blaze slowly pulled at the hem of the dresses skirt until my backside was exposed, sucking and biting his bottom lip as he unabashedly checked me out. "Why, Mr Lundy," I purred, shooting back a line he'd once used on me, "are you objectifying me?"

"You love it," he teased, quietly aware that he'd hit the nail squarely on its head. I loved that he looked at my body the way he did— ravenously despite all it's blemishes. And I loved that he viewed what was inside the same way. If he'd found out about my past and started coddling me the same way others did, it might have destroyed the connection between us. He understood and I didn't want to dwell on how.

"I... I missed you, Blaze." He nodded once sagely and kissed me, appreciating how difficult it was for me to admit that he had that kind of control over me. I tended to keep my thoughts and feelings internalised, even to detrimental effect, but I know that wasn't going to be an option when he saw right through me.

His tongue teased mine gently, tenderly lapping but making his self-restraint obvious. "Eat with me, Emmeline. I won't be able to leave your side if you fall asleep here. I don't want to—" I pressed my finger to his lips to silence him and slunk back, eagerly waiting for him to fill my plate. Somehow, this 'first date' premise was as important and monumental to him as it was to me, and even if I didn't know why, I wouldn't spoil it for him.

My work-drink-f*ck-sleep cycle would remain, but in a way I wouldn't protest. I'd just have to reorganise my schedule to eat too.





"I TOLD YOU so." I rolled my eyes at Esme's goading whisper as Blaze vanished across the bar's floor headed in the direction of the men's room, but a smile hit the corners of my lips. Despite Chris' oozing disapproval, Blaze had rejoined us for our usual drinking binge like he'd never left and kept one arm around my shoulders, possessively brushing his fingers across my skin while he divulged details of work further afield he'd arranged while he had an open calendar. By all accounts, photographers had fallen over themselves to find out he was in a position to travel, some even hoping to snag photo-shoots including myself. I was grateful that he'd declined on my behalf, still lacking the self-confidence to make an exhibition of myself the way he could. Besides, I had absolutely no discernible talents that could justify that kind of publicity. Being the daughter of a smug, rich bastard was no talent.

Smiling into my glass, I gave Esme the words she was working for. "You were right." The admission came with her jubilant air-punch and self-satisfied grin.

"I was there when he turned up you know, sorting out those bags for the charity shop. It took all my self-control to not call you and let you know."

"You spoke?" I sat up rigid, inexplicably thrown off by the news. "Please tell me you didn't tell him anything embarrassing."

"Embarrassing?" She teased me with her question, cocking her head thoughtfully side to side until I shoved her insistently. "I didn't tell him anything. What he said, however—"

"Esme, you're awful." Daniel shook his head at her across the table, looking almost amused. "She's having you on, Emmy. She was leaving as he arrived, shot him the daggers and pulled the door shut behind her so he had to faff around with finding your spare key."

She shrank down bashfully and gave me the smallest of shy smiles. "Someone had to stick up for you."

"Oh, Esme," I crooned, pulling her into a hug, "you're like the sister I wish I could trade mine in for."

"You have a sister?" Blaze startled us both with his rapid return, but appeased all with the tray of cupcakes he carried. They'd been something I couldn't stand to look at for the other four days of that week, but now provoked a smile that came with the memory of my pet name.

"I hope you washed your hands." He retook his seat and shot me a pointed look that reminded me of all the places his hands had been when the remaining contents of the picnic basket were repacked and stuffed into the boot of the goblin car. I gulped down a large mouthful of my wine to remedy the dryness that came to my mouth. "Yes, I have a sister. By blood only, I assure you. There's no love on either side." I cared for my sister the same way you might care for a house cat. You got used to her lurking in the background, she only ever came to you when she wanted something, I'd miss and remember her when she died but ultimately, she was a superficial factor in my genealogy. Even though only two years separated us, we had never been particularly close, even as children. "Do you have siblings?"

"Only child," he muttered as he shook his head, "my dad died young and my mum never got over it."

"I'm sorry." I immediately felt bad for prying, even though there really was no way I could have known. "Was he ill?"

"Murdered." A stony silence befell our table, an eerie sadness matched by our vacant spaces like we took a moment to mourn with him. "It was a random attack," Blaze went on, seemingly forcing the matter out of the ether, "wrong place at the wrong time. They stabbed him repeatedly in the left side before they realised it was the wrong person."

I felt all eyes burning into the point where all my scars converged, and withered. What were the chances that I'd pick the same place?

"I'm sorry," I said again, feeling ashamed tears burning the backs of my eyes. I carried a reminder of something terrible around on my body and that made me need to put some distance between us. Pushing up from the table, I excused myself and rushed out for a gulp of heavy summer air, not feeling as refreshed as I hoped. Plenty of people had tried to urge me to feel guilty about what I had done to myself and it had never stuck. Blaze achieved his results effortlessly, seamlessly and unintentionally.

"It's just coincidence." His voice rasped behind me, weighted with a kind of bitter sweet affection that made my skin crawl. "I don't think about it." But I would. Every time he saw me nude, I'd worry that the recollection of being young and suddenly fatherless would spring into the forefront of his mind.

"Do you remember him?"

"No. I know that he walked in the wrong circles and that's why he was caught in the crossfire, but my mother loved him enough to give me his stupid surname." He stepped up behind me and wrapped his arms, settling one hand over the scars that marred my side. "Do you still do this?"

Turning in the circle of his arms, I drew in a breath and traced the V neckline of his charcoal waistcoat that met in the middle of a black tie, the darkest point of the monochrome three piece suit he'd dressed back into after washing himself clean of the smell of reconciliatory sex that afternoon.

Honesty was something I had difficulty with, not because I was a pre-dispositional liar, but because I didn't like to verbalise the ugly thoughts that swarmed around in my mind, the ones that reminded me what a good idea it had been at the time. The only time I'd given him anything meaningful had been in times he'd given me the once over and the endorphins rushing around stopped me caring if my words had any negative impact. I knew that it was a bad habit I had to grow out of— to use his own words, it really wasn't convenient to bend me over and prod the truth out of me when I was being defensive by rote.

"I don't tend to pencil it into my daily routine." I coughed the satire out of my voice when he arched an unimpressed brow. "Sometimes. Not often. There are times where I feel so numb that I need to hurt physically to feel human, or I can't forgive myself for not being good enough without feeling like I've paid some sort of penance. It doesn't hold the same relevance it did when I was a teenager. That was punishment, this is... coping." It seemed ridiculous to try and justify it, but I wanted him to understand that the compliments and respect he paid me weren't redundant, that I didn't necessarily feel fat and in need of a serious diet in spite of them. His kind words had a healing affect that came from nobody else, an ability to make me see light where there was once nothing but darkness.