Blazed(41)

"Ignore Esme. She doesn't know what she's—"

He silenced me with a look and held my hand in both of his. "I want to give you something. But I'll be clear and say that it's not a commitment, just a promise." He stuffed a small velvet covered box into my palm and closed my fingers around it, cool as anything. Morbidly curious, I snapped the lid open to a needlessly large emerald set into white gold, flanked on either side by three diamonds arranged into a triangle. Almost too much without being pretentious, like the man himself. Just the sight of it made me wince— if this was just a promise, what the hell did the proposal look like?

And that was when it all started to make sense— my friends peculiar behaviour the night before, their knowledge of his plans and Chris' evil overlord demeanour. They knew about this. The trip into Birmingham had been for this ring. Esme, Daniel and Jonathan had immediately launched into frenzied romantic visions of summer weddings and Parisian honeymoons and Chris had thought I'd panic and run a mile. It was all suddenly so clear.

"The promise," Blaze clarified, "is that I'll always accept you for who you really are, and by agreeing to wear it, you're promising to accept yourself and to never try and change to match someone else's expectations." Then he shrugged and reclined, folding his hands behind his head, unintentionally flexing every muscle in his torso and breaking the severity of the gesture. "Besides, if you wear it on just the right finger, it might repel some of that pesky male attention you so hate."

I ignored the mean chide and lifted the box into the light. The hue of the stone was a close match to his eyes and I suspected it was intentional. "This wouldn't go unnoticed," and I didn't just mean because the stone was huge enough to send green sparkles across the sheet when it caught the sun, "people will make assumptions."

"Let them. We know what this is."

We did. More than a promise. This was exactly what people would assume it was. Did the idea of being bound to him like this scare me? No. Did it matter that we'd only known each other a couple of months and I hardly knew him? No. Did I care what anyone else thought? No. I only cared about what Blaze thought and the expectations he had of tethering me, but I loved how he got that if he'd dropped to his knee and tried to take the traditional route, it might have been enough to send me jumping out of the closest window. That was probably why he'd looked so distracted, knowing where he was going and what for. He was thinking of the most backhanded way to give me this ludicrously beautiful ring that reminded me of him in so many ways.

I hoped the assumptions I was making about the situation were right.

"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 f*cking dress."