Blazed

chapter Fifteen

THE FLY ON THE WALL


EMMELINE WHITE BLASTED into my life like an ice cold tidal wave, leaving me disorientated but revitalised. The calm monotony of my life was left skewed the instant she looked up at me with her olive-green eyes and whispered, "wow". Despite the boldness of her body language, she emitted a timid, almost childlike vulnerability that made me think she'd suffered horribly, and the shadows in her eyes seemed to scream "accept me, please".

There was no way I couldn't fall in love with her.



FINDING her in the bookshop was a shock. Finding her book was a bigger shock. She was obviously an intelligent and complex little thing, and the more I looked at her, the more invisible walls I saw guarding her. She was damaged, maybe irreparably. The sensible thing to do would have been to walk away and never look back, accepting that she looked too jaded. She was too attractive to not be taken, but too stunning to keep herself tied down— the most beautiful contradiction I'd ever laid eyes on.

I needed her in my life, but something about the way she carried herself told me that if I went with my impulse to be inside her physically, she'd feel like she'd fulfilled her purpose and walk away. I got that; I got that she felt like she was worth nothing more than a one night stand. If I wanted her around, I had to find out what lay beyond the beauty.

That seemed easy enough, but I never imagined that she'd look more perfect when she looked free-er, and at the same time more trapped up in her insecurities. She was glorious but she just didn't see it, and she didn't know how to kick back.

The more time I spent with her, the more I understood why her eyes were clouded and distant. The scars, the voices, the feelings of worthlessness... Hell, even the fact that she'd cared too much about the wrong person was something I could appreciate and relate to. I was determined to make her see that she was perfect just the way she was and that she didn't need to meet anyone else's expectations. That's why I took her shopping and showed her how everyone saw her. Her eating habits had already told me that she had a distorted view of her own body, so that grim tale of her past was no surprise.



I should have guessed that I was in trouble when that New York stiff was flirting with her and it played on my nerves. I should have realised that it wasn't some kind of priapic programming that made me want to kiss those brutal scars when I first saw them. I should have been smart enough to know that it wasn't just a case of getting it out of my system when I saw a way to satisfy that lust without losing her. The simple fact of being afraid to lose her should have sounded the first alarm bell.

But I don't regret that I took that chance. I don't regret that the moment I was inside her, it sparked a need to stay there until my dying day. And yes, I'm kind of happy that she got caught up in that disaster with me even though it couldn't have been clearer that she really didn't want to.

I'll admit that I became obsessed with her. Every free evening I had, I jumped into my car and drove to Esme's bar. Not being close to her became a physical ache and a thirst I had to quench. But being close to her just wasn't enough, and no matter how much I tried to screw her stupid until the novelty wore off, it just never did. I woke up in the middle of the night with a hard on after dreaming of her and found myself getting irritable over the stupidest things when I knew I wouldn't get to see her. It was like being a teenage boy crushing on one of the popular girls all over again, so horny the slightest breeze had me ducking away for a 'personal' five minutes.

She was always surprised when I came back and I never understood why. I didn't really understand at all until I found out about that idiot in Japan who'd caused her so much hell. I hated him. I hated that he'd made her feel so worthless. She'd been downtrodden for so long and she thought that she loved him, but me— I knew she didn't. I knew she just wanted to be loved but didn't feel like she deserved it when she came with so much baggage— baggage he'd created. What she didn't see was that I loved her baggage as much as I loved that dimple in her left cheek. In fact, the more I found out, the more there was to love.

That's why I gave her the ring, so she'd have some reassurance in physical form. It was so much more than a gift given with the intention of marrying her, which I would one day, despite my own complications. It was given so she'd feel some permanence in our connection, which I knew she thought was temporary. It was my way of saying that nothing she'd told me could scare me away. My way of telling her that she was mine, and she didn't need to worry about not being his anymore because I wanted her myself, and I wanted him to know that he couldn't have her. His bullshit would have to stop if he had me to answer to when she got upset over him talking to her like dirt.

Nothing made me happier than seeing how much she settled when that ring was on her finger. The day I'd had to spend away from her and sacrifice the opportunity to watch her wake up was worth it. I'd spent the whole drive to Birmingham worried that she thought I was rejecting her as well as worried that she could tell I was on the brink of making a pretty wild gesture and was lacing up her running shoes.

I felt complete when I knew that I'd marry the first woman I'd ever truly loved, a woman who blew all my inhibitions to hell. I just hoped I'd have chance to fix my own life now I'd fixed hers, and that I wouldn't undo any of my own handiwork in the process.





THERE WAS NO way I could have foreseen the way she'd panic when I told her we were going to the mixer. I put it down to the fact that I'd dragged her out of bed and refused to let her sleep. A selfish part of me wanted to take advantage of how receptive she became to honesty and affection after an orgasm took hold of her like a drug. She was the most open with me after we'd made love, and I wanted to string that out so she'd learn to never be afraid to say anything to me. And I wanted her to curl up into me and just be held— let me brush my fingers through her hair and tell her how gorgeous she was without recoiling like she usually did.

Looking back, I guess she didn't do it because she didn't know how. She'd never been with the person she wanted before, so she'd never let anyone in. She'd never been loved. I don't think she knew how to be held and worshipped. She trained herself to fall asleep in self-defence so nobody could ever try to make that kind of romantic connection with her. Some of the most basic parts of life most people picked up in their teens didn't hold a place in her heart because she'd never learnt them. Spending those years hating herself had stolen her life, and that explained so much.

I was going to teach her how to be loved, and show her that loving didn't have to hurt. I thought that I might be halfway there already.



WHEN I walked into The Roses with her on my arm, I felt like the luckiest man in the world. She couldn't have looked any more different from the woman I'd met, but I knew that she was still in there— fragile, lost and confused. But she was wearing a ring that I knew she wouldn't have accepted under sufferance when there was such an easy exit. That was all that mattered to me; that she loved me enough to take it even though she would never say it out loud. She had enough faith to take the risk. She loved me more than the man who made her ill, and I'd earned that love fair and square.

The dress I'd picked out looked perfect on her, the viridian satin clinging to the lush curves she'd grown into since we'd met. It had looked great on the assistant who'd modelled it, but Emmeline made it. Her hair swept over her shoulder and tumbled in soft curls down to her ribs on the right side— the unscarred side— leaving me access to kiss the dimple that creased her left cheek every time she gave me her shy, lop-sided secret smile. God, I loved that dimple, and I loved how she'd sat there patiently and let me dress her and curl those soft tresses that were definitely better blonde. I got to see and touch so much more of her than anyone else, and that was my honour.

She took the chaos of the mixer in her stride like she'd been doing it forever. People loved her dry, quick wit and congratulated me on finding her as much they congratulated us both on our engagement. When everyone else could identify and appreciate what a rare and amazing beauty she was without even seeing her face, how could she not realise that it was true?

Whenever we were torn away from each other, I felt her eyes on me. She was obsessed as I was, and so acutely attuned to me that she knew where I was without even looking. And I was watching her. I watched the way she chatted with my long time friend, Cornelia, like she was her friend too, and I couldn't help but smile when she felt comfortable enough to laugh. Emmeline was an enigma— my enigma, and worth standing in the heat of my personal hell when she caught my gaze and told me what she couldn't put into words. I love you.





I DIDN'T HEAR most of the conversations I had, and I barely tasted the wine. All I could focus on was being next to her— getting back to her and keeping my arms wrapped around her satin sheathed frame. When I had to answer a call of nature, I was overcome with irrational concern that she wouldn't be there when I came back. Then, to add to my irritation, I was roped into several conversations on my way back to her. Thank god the cavalry arrived.

Henry Tudor was a great man. His business ethic was a little off, but he was jovial and obtusely hilarious. He didn't excuse or pardon himself when he pulled me away from Cornelia's boyfriend— a man who was ridiculously self-reverent— just spoke over him until he went away on his own like only a successful man who took no crap could.

"Looked like you needed saving there, young man." He had no idea. I knew he'd keep me in one place and Cornelia would encourage Emmeline to come over for introductions.

"I appreciate it, old boy. You never stop saving my bacon, do you?" He grinned and beckoned me over to his table, where he retrieved a large glass of brandy. I noticed that he was one of just a few people not drinking the wine circulating the room. My unusually audacious fiancée was another.

Seemingly reading my mind, he raised his glass in a solitary toast. "What's the point of babysitting the establishment if you don't get to raid the liquor cabinet, eh!" Babysitting? I didn't probe, just laughed along with him, getting caught in his good mood that rivalled my own. Henry had done so much for me in the past and I still owed him. He wouldn't let me give him back all the money he'd frittered away on my university fees for years and I could never repay him in kind for all the times he'd let my band perform in his upmarket venues so we'd get noticed by the right people. But I could afford him my utmost respect. He deserved that of me for all the magic he'd worked.

"So is everything going well in Tudorland?" Not probing. Just making conversation.

He grunted and shook his head at himself. "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." If Tallulah was anything to go by, I really doubted that we'd have any common ground, though secretly I admired that she wouldn't participate in the family business, giving the less legitimate side of it an extremely wild berth. Henry hadn't become so successful by making friends and had too many enemies. I could imagine his life being very lonely.

Besides, I had my woman. "Sorry, old chap. I've very recently acquired a ball-buster of my own."

I looked up because I felt her approach me. Not the confident woman who'd been working the room all night, but the lost ghost I'd met at first. But I could still see how much she wanted me in the way she reacted when I looked in her direction. Her cheeks underneath the mask flushed, her eyes flared with desire and her step faltered. I could make her remember every way I'd touched her in the bedroom and just by glancing in her general direction.

And when she was thinking about it, so was I. "And there go my balls."

The closer she got, the more I wanted to step forward and pull her into my arms, pick her up and carry her out of that room to make those memories a reality. But I also wanted to show her off so she knew that I was proud to have her with me. "Henry," I reached for her and curled my arm around her waist, "meet my very significant other." Emmeline offered her hand bashfully, keeping her head low like he was too rich to look at. She looked so sweet and nervous.

Henry kissed the back of her hand and smiled to himself. "Miss White, yes?" He'd obviously seen the seating plan. "Not very talkative, are you?"

"She's here under sufferance, I've just brought her to show her off." Because I was elated to have arrived with the most beautiful woman in the room, maybe the country. Almost certainly the planet.

"At a masquerade party? Daft sod." As silly as it seemed to him, I'd had my reasons. I knew the anonymity would comfort her around the people she'd feel awkward forcing conversation with; people who oozed affluence and wealth.

She stood patiently like a serene statue while Henry and I spoke, watching and absorbing all the action. We exchanged polite chit-chat about work and family, musing over gatherings past before the Tudor's followed their youngest daughter into London and Henry's staffing problems.

Emmeline spoke clearly and coolly when she was spoken to, smiling when appropriate and allowing Henry to look at her engagement ring without pause for thought. Anyone would have thought she'd been perfectly trained in the proper etiquette for these kinds of events— she didn't appear even slightly ruffled if she was being watched.

"Beautiful, just beautiful. Like the young lady beneath that mask, I suspect." Henry gave me a many slap on the shoulder and winked so Emmeline couldn't see. I had his approval on my choice of woman, and that stood for a lot in my eyes. He was a shrewd judge of character. "I've taken up enough of your evening. Show the lady how real men dance." Finally.



I loved the way she nestled up against my chest to dance, and how she was just the right height for me to rest my cheek on her head so she could hear me sing to her. I could feel her smile, and when she looked up at me for a kiss, her innocent smile made me melt a little— an innocence dispelled by the hunger in her kiss.

"Are you bored? You're very quiet. You could have spoken to Henry, he's not all that bad." It was important to me that all the big characters in my life got on with each other. I hated time wasted on conflict.

She ran her hands up my jacket as she snuggled in closer to me, moulding against the muscles I knew she could feel well through my suit. That was why I'd worn it— I wanted her to feel as proud to me as I did her.

"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 arched a brow in surprise. She never ceased to amaze me when she opened that mouth and came out with something unexpectedly profound and intelligent. I knew her so well, and yet so little. Now, I had a lifetime to learn more. "What? I'm not as stupid as I look. That 'dumb blonde' 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." Oh. Embarrassing. Secretly, I blamed her for catching me off guard and being so outstanding in every way that it made my brain go soft like mush.



WHILE we danced, I let my imagination get carried away with me. I dared to imagine our first dance, how she'd look in an elegant white dress I'd have to resist the urge to pick for her, and how she'd look underneath it. Even images of how she'd look swollen with my children growing inside her flooded my mind, if that was even a possibility after her 'difficulties' as a teenager. There definitely wasn't a good way to broach that subject.

But I wanted all of that with her. I wanted those little dreams to become little realities, and I knew that I had to set my affairs straight before they could happen. There were a few discrepancies and inconveniences that needed my attention, and they were the only things stopping me from taking Scott's little joke about Vegas and turning it back on him.

Esme strode across the dance-floor between us, wanting me to answer the question I knew her eyes were screaming. Did she accept the ring? She fist-pumped the air when I made my barely discernible nod, and closed the distance between us, complimenting Emmeline on how beautiful she looked.

"Mind if I pull her away, Blaze?" I might have objected if Emmeline hadn't look so pleased to see her. As her only female friend, Esme was the only person who could really relate and enjoy our engagement in the typical girlish-giggling way. The gay couple might have had their fair share of opinions on the big day, but Esme could enjoy the hype that lead up to it, something that would last for a while yet.



WHEN they left, I was inundated with questions from clucking women who'd seen us dancing, asking who my partner was, how serious we were and what had been so wrong with the daughters they'd been trying to pimp out for years. More annoyingly, I was collared by Helen Rosen, a notoriously conceited and self-obsessed woman who knew my mother. She rambled incessantly about her son, who I'd never met but got the impression that he was as big-headed and pig-ignorant as his parents. They'd found wealth like Henry— because of Henry— and weren't even slightly modest about it. It was hard to guess which parts of Helen were still real.

I didn't want to know about her son's wedding. I didn't want to know about all the things his fiancée did that mine didn't. And no, I didn't want to see the photographs, but she showed me anyway. The wholesome copper haired boy next door standing with a long, raven haired stick figure of diluted Asian origin, painted on smiles all round. Yeah, I liked to think that Emmeline and I looked a little more edgy and a lot happier. In fact, I knew we did.

"Excuse me, lady and gent," the huge red mask that was Esme sashayed to us and positioned herself in the middle of the unwanted conversation. Again, thank god for the cavalry. "I hate to interrupt, but Ivy would like to test her third eye on you and your lovely new fiancée." Shit. Ivy Tudor had a gift for spotting soul mates and poor matches. What the hell would I do if she gave us the death sentence? Would Emmeline take it to heart and give up, and would I let her?

But they were standing together, and I wanted to be near my girl. I was confident that she'd see in us what she'd seen in all the other couples I'd watch grow closer and more blissful. I wanted that thumbs up.

"Blaze, darling!" Looking outlandishly youthful, Ivy Tudor peered at me from behind her bright pink mask. How had her oldest daughter gone so wrong when she looked so magnificent for her age, topped in blonde curls with an almost embarrassingly impressive figure? It made me wonder what the other Tudor daughter looked like.

"Ivy." I kissed the back of her hand and turned my attention to the beauty pressed up against me. I'd wrapped my arm around her without even realising. "You look wonderful. And you appear to have met the only other woman in the room who comes close enough to compare." You had to give me my dues, I knew how to handle rich, important women.

Ivy smiled to herself, then directed it up to me. "I have indeed, young man. Let me look at you both without those silly masks."

My fingers pulled at the strands of ribbon attached to Emmeline's mask. My god, I'd almost forgotten how divine she was. It damn near took my breath away. She seemed to go through the same motions when I removed my own mask, and something shifted and click into place. This woman was mine, and would be forever. I'd do anything— anything, to make sure of it.

"Oh yes," Ivy gushed, "yes, you're perfect together. I'll be on tenterhooks waiting for news of your engagement." And approval from the Child of Cupid. We couldn't fail. My complications would have to be resolved, and quickly. I couldn't risk leaving anything to time or chance.

I took Emmeline's left hand in mine and kissed the emerald on her finger, then kissed her soft, pink lips. "Actually Ivy, I concreted my intentions to keep the lovely Emmeline just this afternoon."

"Oh!" Ivy snatched her hand from my grip to critique the ring. "Beautiful, simply beautiful. Like the lady herself. "Masks back on, my loves! We must celebrate!"



AND BOY DID we celebrate. From that day, my life would become about celebrating every day I had with that girl. As hungover as we were, we made love through the night, slept only briefly and started again in the morning. It didn't matter to me that she jumped up to be sick because we both laughed about it, and laughter was something my life had seen too little of. Love like ours came around once in a lifetime, as did women like Emmeline. And yes, I had to celebrate that.

We fooled around in the lift down to breakfast like we were already newly-weds, hands always on each other and nearly always lips. Dressed in our formal outfits from the mixer, we looked dishevelled but peaceful, focused only on each other. That lift ride might have been the single-most best moment in my life. It was the moment I knew our fates were inextricably juxtaposed. No matter what, we would always be connected.

It made me smile to watch Emmeline crane her neck to look around at the impressive structure of the hotel. I don't think she even realised chapter she was doing it, and I'd been in enough expensive hotels, restaurants and venues to take it for granted, so I got a good view of her wide, awed eyes. They really were an amazing and unusual colour. I'd seen it elsewhere but just couldn't place it...

"So what do you hunger for, Miss White?" I shoved her gently when she gave me that look. I wanted that too, but she needed to refuel first. I had a week left before I had to resume caring duties and I had big plans to spend most of it admiring that starry-eyed look she got when I'd made her come so hard her head spun. "Something that doesn't involve one or both of us making sex noise."

"But where's the fun in that? I'm actually jonesing for black coffee and scrambled eggs." She had no idea how good it felt for me hear her talk about being hungry. The idea that she might go back down the road of anorexia someday put the fear of God in me. I wouldn't be able to watch her suffer— I'd suffer with her.

"After the pounding you just got, are they not already scrambled?" She tried to look affronted but failed. I hoped I hadn't accidentally touched a raw nerve.

"Look, see. Scrambled eggs on toast. Perfect. If I eat real quickly, we can get back up to that big ol' bed before check out time and you can bash my head against the headboard a few more times."

"Okay!" Now she was talking! "Chop chop, vixen. I have plans for us this afternoon."

"Oh?" Her face lit up like a kid at Christmas. The woman was bloody insatiable and I loved it. Her greed for me was a real turn on, just one on a long and extensive list.

"Not those plans. God woman, you'll kill me before the honeymoon."

All of a sudden, she turned away. Dread bubbled in my stomach. Had she changed her mind?

"So you know, I'm really in no rush to—"

"Me either." I was quick to reassure her. As eager as I was to make her my wife, and despite the wrongs I had to set right before that could happen, I wasn't going to push her harder than she wanted. Too many people had done that to her in the past. I knew she needed the control, that's why she looked so relieved. "I'm still not done terrorising you. It's been less than a day, there's no need to rush it all now when we have all the time in the world."

ESME caused a welcome distraction, walking in looking like Death himself. While the girls spoke, I took the opportunity to admire how amazing Emmeline looked even when hungover. She had come so far from the waif in baggy clothes and looked like she was, herself, expensive. Maybe even worth millions. Luxury suited her and she wore it well. It was like a kick in the nuts every time I saw her— I couldn't believe my luck.

Unable to keep our hands off each other when we weren't talking to someone, we stumbled out onto the open terrace attached to the dining room, barely keeping our coffees from spilling. My fast reactions saved the cups when she ground to a standstill right in front of me, face draining of colour like she'd seen a ghost.

"Emmeline?"

A hesitant croak left her mouth and she stepped back, gaze fixed on the other three guests sitting with Esme. "Oh, um... hello."

Henry and Ivy sat on either side of Tallulah, the daughter I'd been fortunate enough to avoid at the mixer, still dressed in their evening clothes sans masks. They'd been nice enough to put us in one of their suites when we stumbled across the street from The Roses with our female companions barely able to hold themselves straight.

And they were looking at Emmeline the same way she was looking at them. Stunned. Mortified. Maybe even confused.

"Henry," I took the coffee cup from Emmeline's hand before her white knuckle grip snapped the handle and urged her towards the table, "you know of my best girl?"

"I should say so, as your best girl is also my best girl."

Emmeline made the strangest noise of shame, guilt and woe. It took a moment to register why she looked so green around the gills, but when it did, I pulled her back into the dining room, completely dumbstruck. She was the missing Tudor— the daughter who wouldn't play house. No wonder she held herself so well around a high-end crowd. She was worth millions herself, even if she was living like a bum on bookshop wages.

I didn't know how the hell to react. She wasn't helping matters by looking so ashamed. "Why the hell didn't you tell me Henry and Ivy are your parents?"

"You didn't ask?" The obtuse retort pissed me off. If she could be so honest about everything else, why was this such a big secret? Did she think I'd start trying to chip away at her hidden fortune? Didn't she f*cking know me at all? "You know enough about my family to know that I'm not an active member. If it doesn't matter to me, it shouldn't matter to you."

But it did. It mattered a lot because she was the daughter of a man I respected deeply. Hell, if I'd have known, I'd have proposed properly so he didn't feel like his dear daughter had been short changed. I would have asked his god damn permission like a gentleman. I owed him that for all the times he'd helped me.

And that was when it clicked. Henry was always happy to help me, and this time, I needed help to make his little girl happy for the rest of her life. He had the power to do things I'd struggle to do— make plans I couldn't even dream of concocting. He could be my greatest ally, and he could help me set this right.

"You're right." I grabbed Emmeline's hands and pulled her up to her feet, wrapping her arms around my neck so I could kiss her. She was worth all that I would have to do, and she was worth it to Henry too. The first little while would be tough while I was forced to keep her at arm's length, but after that, she'd always be happy because I'd make sure of it. I'd devote my life to it. "So if you don't mind, I'm going to go and find out if you come with a dowry."

"What? Hey!" Feeling lighter already, I took our plates from the approaching waiter and rejoined the Tudors and Esme, putting Emmeline's down in between Esme and Ivy so she could eat while I spoke to Henry. She needed that energy even more now— I would be flaming for her when I got her alone.

"Henry, old boy. I believe it's customary for me to seek your blessing. Let's take a walk."



WE walked down to the trellis at the bottom of the hotel's garden before I braced myself the way I always did before I begged a favour from Henry. This had to be by far the biggest ask I had for him, and I technically owed him thousands.

"You had no idea, did you?" He shocked me by talking first, reaching up to one of the honeysuckle blossoms. "You thought she was just a broken girl you picked up from the gutters and turned into a queen. Your queen."

"She was already a queen, I just helped her see it." Nodding, he turned back to me, brow arched expectantly. The man could read me so well— he knew there was more. "Henry," I rasped, hands balling into fists at my sides, "I want to be upfront with you. I love your daughter and I'd love nothing more than to marry her with your blessing. But there are things that stop me. Things nobody knows."

He listened patiently while I told him about the side of my life nobody save— the part that forced me to keep my distance from Emmeline. I explained how Natasha had been diagnosed just as we were due to head out on tour and considered being with me her dying wish. I explained how we married in secret quickly so I'd get everything when I was gone— my reward for humouring her when she knew how much I'd be sacrificing. And I explained why the situation was particularly bothersome— the lies and the betrayal that meant I deserved my life back with what I'd earned. When I finished, he nodded and looked out across the room to the table where the women in his life sat.

"So what exactly is it you're after, son? My blessing to carry on keeping secrets from my daughter, or my help so you can live happily ever after?"

"Both. But right now, mostly the help." Bowing my head, I stepped back and paced the grass restlessly. "I've played it over a thousand times in my head and I see no way out. I can't lose Emmeline now I've found her. But I've paid my dues, six years of them."

Henry's hand clapped down on my shoulder. It was a gesture that provoked a sigh of relief. I knew that his brutal refusal came with a handshake. He was on my side. "It's a tricky one, but I'll help you, son. Anything to keep that smile on her face."

"And in the meantime?"

He frowned. "Tell her the truth, but I suggest you word it very carefully. One wrong syllable and she'll go down like a lead balloon. Otherwise, welcome to the family."

His acceptance made me push out a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding. "You're sure that you're alright with this?"

"All is fair in love and war, young man. All manner of philandering, foul play and truth stretching is fair game. You did what you thought was right at the time, and retrospect is a bitch. Just keep Emmeline out of this. She doesn't need to know the ugly details."

A massive weight lifted off my shoulders. Like always, Henry would save me from trouble and make my dreams come true. Maybe this time I could repay him by making that beautiful daughter of his happy for the rest of her life after she'd been miserable for so long. It might just be enough his time and effort to see her happy.



BUT when we turned back to the terrace, she was gone. We exchanged confused glances before I ran back up to the dining room and searched inside, hoping that Emmeline was there with Ivy and Esme. But nothing. Dread took over again. When she always worried that I'd never come back, it was me that worried she wouldn't wait. All the men she took home in my absence, the way she didn't chase me... I never really believed that I was enough. Now I had my proof.

"I swear, Dad, I have no idea where they went!" Tallulah's grating bleat pulled me back out to the terrace, where Henry stood over his eldest daughter looking enraged. He didn't need to utilise years of learning her mannerisms to know that she was lying because it was written all over her face. In fact, she looked downright smug. "She just took off without touching her breakfast. Nothing new there. Oh, I lie," she turned her pig-eyed gaze on me and nodded down at the scrambled eggs still piping steam. "She did touch it. Your ring is in there somewhere."

"What?" Without forethought, I bolted over to the table and saw the emerald glinting up at me. "When did they go?"

"About five minutes ago." Tallulah turned back to the magazine she was reading and refused to look up. "She said something about telling you to go f*ck yourself and your complications."



I didn't understand. All she knew was that my time for her was tight. I loved her— I gave her a god damn ring so she knew. If it was too much, she should have said at the time instead of letting me announce it to the world.

I'd find out what the hell I'd done wrong, if it meant following her through hell and back. If we were over, just like that, I at least deserved a chance to make it right. I needed it so I wouldn't let the confusion kill me. She made me crazy enough to take that path if I had to live without her. She was the only reason I had to get away from my f*cking wife. Without her, I was a sucker, waiting and hating myself for it.

Emmeline White was my reason 'why' to stop thinking about the 'why not', and I wasn't going to give her up without a fight, even if I did have to spend six days sleeping in my car and stewing before I could get close enough to get my explanation.

She was mine. No matter what.





chapter Sixteen





WHEN I WAS young, my parents had me fairly effectively shielded from disappointment and grief. Neither of them were particularly close to their families, so I never really mourned the deaths of relatives. I never had pets, so our garden wasn't pathed like an animal cemetery. And unlike so many other children on the playground, I was never encouraged to follow a fantastical illusion of characters such as Santa Claus or The Tooth Fairy. Hell, we weren't even religious, so there was never any sources of false hope to be shredded down.

My first taste of negativity didn't come until I was a teenager and I was thrown into the throes of the testosterone fuelled rejection temple of doom that was secondary school, and even then I was prepared for it. Hope for nothing, my mother had told me since the day I had enough cognition to see 'the bigger picture', hope for nothing so that's all you expect, and anything beyond is a bonus. Of course, my mother was so painfully cynical it should have been illegal, and didn't believe for a minute that the 'beyond' was either genuine or indeed in existence. You find your partner, you marry, you mate and then you die— there were no bonuses. She was just insistent that everyone died after a lengthy time spent on one side of an ampersand and put in his and hers grave plots. By her reckoning, every person was born with half of them missing, and if you hadn't found that other half of yourself by the time they laid you in the ground, you'd failed at life. On reflection, it's no wonder I turned out so jaded.

When Hunter became a big deal in my life, I very quickly learnt that petulance, delusion and denial could be both very good friends and very good weapons. I pretended that my heart didn't flutter when he was around and I always had a snarky comment hidden up my sleeve for any kind of speculation, no matter which direction it came from. If I believed the lie enough, it was true to me and that was all that mattered. I'd made it this long using those three tools to fool myself into thinking I didn't miss him when I really did and that I had a shot with him when I really didn't, and that proved how well they worked.

The joy of those three immature pals of mine was that they were transferable. I made believe that Blaze didn't exist, and when my friends found out why, they were only too happy to join in the facade. As far as I cared, his incessant voice mail messages were left by cold callers, his lurking shadow in every restaurant, cafe, arcade, shop and bar was any other stranger, and the quickly scrawled out notes he shoved through my letter box every morning never needed to be acknowledged, let alone read, because they were put through the wrong door by a foolish passer-by or suitor for a neighbour.

My work days were not spent at work. Instead, Mrs Reynolds sent me to the flat above the shop that we used for extra storage and had me invent banal and unnecessary organisation and filing systems that we would use, but were no better than what was already implemented. She was furious for me, and she didn't want to give Blaze a reason to come into the shop by keeping me in eye shot. It wasn't likely that he'd get out alive.

Instead of drinking out in public view at Esme's, we kept ourselves hidden on the small VIPs only balcony that overlooked the club's ground floor, and had table service from the charming barman who adored his boss. If I wasn't at work, I was always in the company of at least one of my friends, never alone, never left unguarded, never allowed to change my mind.

I'd surrounded myself in an efficient bubble that contained me and the whole world, everything except him. He was locked out of my mind and exiled to a cramped little box that held all my other nasty little monster memories that had teeth strong enough to snap steel.





IT HAD BEEN almost a blessed week of blissful ignorance when that box burst open. There had been no note that morning, so figuring that he'd finally got the hint, I agreed to go back to my old humdrum task of restocking the shelves in Double Booked. That was my first mistake.

It was just after my lunch break when it happened. I'd worked through it and ate on the move like old times, and Mrs Reynolds had run across the street to get us some 'real' coffee from a cafe that had opened the day before. That window of opportunity stood open to be abused by all kinds of lovelorn actors/rockstars/bastards, and it was. By a man who epitomised all three occupations in the same sadistically beautiful vessel.

He stood next to me looking almost genuinely surprised that I might actually be working to earn my wage. His eyes were bloodshot, red ringed and surrounded by grey bags. His hair was messy and style-less, six days of stubble spread from his chin up to his cheekbones, and he was still wearing the suit I'd left him in. It was his broken 'I got dumped by the ultimate' look and he still looked like a f*cking magazine cover model. I spared him one single cold and empty look for a full two seconds, and resumed brutally shoving the poor tomes into their spaces.

"Wow, it's kinda cold in here." Reflexively, I made an involuntarily glance down at my chest and cringed when I heard his soft satiny laugh. "I was referring more to your shoulder, but now you mention it..."

Turning quickly and folding my arms around me to obscure his view, I forced away my scowl and blinked at him, making direct and vacant eye contact like he was a stranger. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Are you going to tell me what I've done wrong?"

I made a hard step past him and positioned my back in his direction. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't believe I've heard of that particular publication. Might I suggest you ask my colleague at the front desk to search the system for you when she comes back in a minute?" I hoped he heard the warning.

"Oh Emmeline, stop being a brat." Obviously not. Had he intentionally used the insult he'd heard Hunter use on me before?

Resisting the urge to swivel around in a rage, I groped around aimlessly behind me to my left, hoping he'd have the decency not to take advantage of my blind spot and get a good look at my bare hand. I got a firm, unhampered grip on the handle of the book trolley and yanked it so hard it nearly overturned. "Brat? You didn't tell me what you did wrong so why the hell should I let you exercise double standards?"

He stiffened behind me— I felt it— and his voice took on a harder edge. "Double standards? You think I'm being dishonest? After you failed to tell me that your parents are loaded? I never lied to you."

It was true. I'd never asked specifically if he had a wife. Our 'relationship' wasn't concerned with honesty and openness, just acceptance of what we gave up voluntarily, so even if I'd thought of it I probably wouldn't have asked, the same way I hadn't asked about his freakish intelligence or mystery dead father. Besides, I was trying to play at pretending it had all never happened— I'd been in love with Hunter for as long as I could remember and had wanted him inexorably before all this. I could go back to that hopeless cause, so I shouldn't have cared. Blaze was just a pretty diversion from my failing mission to find completeness at a dead end.

But I had never been so irrationally dependant on another person to feel happy as I had been in the moment I found out Blaze belonged to someone else. However occasional and irrational our bond may have been, it clung to me like a heavy perfume— or more aptly the smell of smoke— and refused to release it's grip. The fire he'd sparked in my blood was a blessing and a curse. Blaze was a complication that was likely to set me back off down a reckless road, and for that reason, I had to quench those embers.

"The roots of my gene pool are not the same." I argued. "And I never lied either."

His eyes flared. "The same as what?"

"Don't harass me while I'm at work, Blaze." The sudden meekness of my voice was a poor and ineffective way to dismiss him. The moment my words came out with no conviction, I knew it wouldn't be as simple as him leaving then and there. Part of me didn't want him to go. The same part was happy he'd chased me. But it didn't want to explain what he should already have figured out and have to put words to it. It hurt so damn much to say it. You're already married to someone else.

"Where would you like me to harass you then? Because you haven't taken my calls for six days and have your rock-dumb friends as a meat shield whenever I get close.

""Don't harass me at all." My legs set on a non-negotiable trail for the stockroom where he couldn't reach me before I finished my thought. "Go harass your wife."

That was my second mistake. The moment I got to the stockroom door I was trapped up against it by six foot three inches of solid, furious looking male. I might have been scared if not for the fact I could see the fear clouding his eyes, that lacked their usual sparkle and gravity. "You look like shit, Blaze."

"Who told you?"

I tried to force my gaze away but it was stuck to his. "Tallulah."

"What the f*ck..." He stepped back and ran his hands into his hair. Hating that my body was still betraying me by burning up and bowing towards him, I mirrored the gesture and squeezed my palms into my eyes under my glasses until I saw spots. "Why the hell didn't you tell me who you are?"

"I did tell you! I told you everything. Nothing about me changes because my family is well off. God knows if it did I'd be poncing around in a bloody Bentley telling people to fetch me coffee and wipe my arse. I'm as f*cked up as the day you met me and no amount of money changes that." And then I realised what he was doing and I hated that he was trying to deflect the blame. While the opportunity was open, I reached for the door handle behind me, hands trembling, and darted behind it before he could stop me.

I grabbed a spare chair to jam under the handle just as it started to rattle. "Emmeline! Damn it, let me in!"

"I won't let you turn this around onto me," I shouted through the door, "my secrets don't hurt anyone— yours do."

"Cupcake." Blaze ended his attempts to break in and I could imagine him leaning his head against the door frame, splaying his hands across the wood like it would bring us closer. It hurt more now that'd I'd seen him and how lost he looked without me. It hurt when I saw the panic when he knew that I knew. It hurt most when I realised that he'd never intended for me to find out.

"I'm at work. I don't get paid to beat down bigamists."

"Please don't send me away. I've been trying to get you on your own for six days, Emmeline. Six f*cking days. People are dumping spare change in my coffee when I walk down the street."

"Use your f*cking travel mugs." I pretended not to hear his quick gush of a laugh, resentful of the fact that he'd dared to do it, but I knew it was choked with tears.

"I was going to tell you, Emmeline. I just wanted to do it right."

"Not telling me at all was not doing it right. Any point in the three months I was unwittingly your mistress would have been the right time." Steeling myself, I slowly slid the chair back and opened the door so he could see my face— see what he was doing to me. Like I'd imagined, Blaze had his head against the frame, but straightened the moment he saw me. He looked sorry. Ruined. He knew that keeping his complications secret and letting me believe that he was perfect was the biggest mistake he'd made. Turning up at my workplace to verbally beat me into submission until I told him was just a supplementary faux pas.

He reached for me and I stepped back further into the stockroom. "Emmeline..."

"You're the only person who's gotten real tears out of me in five years, Blaze. Please don't make me shed them here. We'll have this conversation when you admit that I did nothing wrong."

"But you—"

"My family is not the same! And even if it was, how is it worse that I didn't tell you my dad is a multibillionaire but I won't touch his business or his money because I abhor his attitude? Please, enlighten me because I am really struggling to understand why I'm a bad person in this case." My face bunched up tightly into an expression of torturous pain as the first burning tear slid down my cheek. "Just get out."

He advanced towards me, not stopping when I backed away. When I was pressed up against the wall, he cupped my face in his hands and kissed the tear, nuzzling me in a way I couldn't stand because it was so sweet and desperate, like he was savouring me for the last time. "I'm sorry."

"So am I. I'm sorry that you didn't respect me enough to tell me the damned truth and I had to find out from a sister who told only because she wanted to stick the f*cking knife in for all the attention, praise and love I get for being a victim of my neuroses." He winced, but ran a thumb across my lips, pulling the bottom lip down with a slight groan. I knew what he was planning, and if he did it, it would be too much for me to bear. "Please don't kiss me. I'll forgive you if you kiss me and you can't make this go away with sweet nothings."

"Emmy?" Mrs Reynolds appearing in the doorway gave me a much needed opportunity to push away from Blaze while he was distracted and put some distance between us. I couldn't forgive him— I didn't want to, but there was no way to fight him if he was right up close to me. It made me remember the other times he'd touched me like that and what else he'd been doing at the same time, all the times we'd had sex just to be closer to each other. God, when he was wrapped around me I wanted to scratch myself open so he had a way to crawl inside me for good.

"Y-You need to g-go." My chest started to shake, holding in what I knew would be a shameless storm of tears and wailing. Sending him away was better in the long term, but my god, was it killing me to find the strength to do it. The clean break would have been better. He could have just taken the hint.

"Emmy, love." Mrs Reynolds pulled me by the arm out into the shop, leaving Blaze inside the stockroom swearing to himself. She sucked on her teeth looking in on him and sighed sharply. "Go home. Talk this out with him."

"But—"

"It hurts like hell, I know. But he had to have a bloody good reason." Sure, because he wanted to have his cupcake and eat her. I didn't vocalise that acerbic notion, choosing instead to regress into miserable teenager mode in protest. If I took him home we'd end up in bed together and that was not the right direction to take from there. Nothing he said would change the fact that I'd essentially been an extra-curricular sex toy and he'd probably been double dipping. That's why he really went weird when I said he could stay overnight properly— shit! It was all starting to make sense. He needed that excuse to creep away so his wife wouldn't twig onto his affair. So why be seen so publicly with me? Why give me a ring? Why tell my friends and family he'd marry me? None of it made sense.

"Stop asking yourself questions he has the answers to, Emmy. If nothing else, go and get some closure so you don't waste your life on 'what if's'." I swallowed convulsively at the same words I'd heard from the mouth of the man in that room and hoped he did have a damn good explanation. She was right, the unanswered questions would drive me insane and I was too weak a person to not end up blaming myself. I didn't know that the penance I set for myself wouldn't be a cost too much.

"Thank you." I nodded stiffly through the open door at Blaze, who jumped into action as spritely as ever. He looked like he'd already won his forgiveness. He certainly hadn't.





WE WALKED THE distance to my flat in a wary silence, Blaze trying to match my slow pace while I trailed behind trying to plan out how the conversation would go. I could hold it together as long as he didn't touch me again, so I planned to position furniture between us, the biggest object possible with a clear run to the door. It felt more like making vigilant plans to go into a bull fight or a lion's den.

It amazed me how uncomfortable I could feel in my own home because he was there after all the other occasions he'd been in that space with me had been some of my best, and near impossible to fend off the feeling of relief that we were there again when I was certain that the previous Saturday had been the last time.

Before he could open his mouth, I pointed at the couch until he sat and remained standing. The kitchen was too much of a hazard to both of us because there were too many sharp objects. The couch was a hazard to me because it would be too easy for him to trap me there. I had to be standing with him in a position of inferiority, somewhere that would hinder his access to me.

"Before you say anything," I rasped hoarsely, so coughed to clear my throat, "I think you should know that this might have gone differently if you'd had the balls to tell me yourself, and it was pretty shitty of you to keep it secret after I spewed the finer details of my life. That said, I think you owe me some simple 'yes' or 'no' answers to some pretty reasonable questions. Yes?"

"Emmeline..." Blaze whined and made to stand up, but I shot him down with a look. "Yes, alright. I do owe you that."

"Okay, good." Sighing, I began to pace the hardwood floor, trying not to pay attention to the rhythmic clacking of my heels. It was too like me to find a reason to let my mind stray and let the delusion pretend there was no problem, but

I needed these answers. "Were you ever planning to tell me?"

"Yes. I promise, I was going to, I just—"

"It was a 'yes' or 'no' question!" I snapped at him, forcing myself not to grace him with a look in his direction. "Were you... have you been going home and... do you share a bed and..." My eyes narrowed at his raised eyebrow. "You know where this is going."

"You think you leave me with enough energy to go home and service a wife?" He rolled his eyes and slumped back into the couch with his arms crossed. "No, Emmeline. We share a house, nothing beyond that. We've never had sex."

"Oh." What? How the hell was that possible? How could he have been married to her for so long but never... I shook the question out of my head and jumped back onto my own track. "Were you really going to marry me?"

Blaze sucked in a quick breath. "Yes."

"So you were going to leave her for me?" Silence. "Blaze?"

"You want a simple answer and I don't have it." He shrugged, raising his hand to his mouth to brush his fingertips across his lips. It was distracting and he knew it. He couldn't lie so he was looking for a way out.

"Answer the damn question."

"I can't in accordance with your 'rules'." I gaped, fuming. It was a childish side of him I never imagined could possibly exist. Far from acting like a child, actually, he was being downright snotty about it.

"You're a smart man. You have a f*cking doctorate. It wasn't a problem before, so know when to make like Galileo and break the rules because either way, you're condemned." Stiffening, I waved a hand and sneered, waiting for a half decent answer. Not that I hadn't already made my assumptions based on his attitude.

He ignored my glare and stood, jaw clenched. "No, Emmeline. I wasn't leaving her for you. But it's not as simple as a man just cheating on his wife. She knows about you."

"What?!" Horrified, I stumbled back until I was against a wall. "Is she coming to break my legs?"

"What? No. It's complicated, but she encouraged me to be with you."

"Does she want me to join in or something?" My hands shot to my mouth, then my hair, then my neck, and kept moving while the worsening compendium of nightmarish possibilities gathered in my mind. Maybe she couldn't keep him satisfied and sleeping with me kept them somewhat functional. Maybe she was fixated on a fantasy. Maybe she was one of those crazies who liked to watch their partner f*ck other people and get her rocks off to it. Maybe it was all part of some sick scheme to lure me in and make me their slave. Shit! Maybe she was one of the people Henry had screwed over and they wanted to get back at him through the bad publicity that would come from his daughter openly screwing a married man.

The growing list made me feel physically sick. "What the hell have you dragged me in to?"

"Nothing! My god," Blaze rushed at me, stalling at the hand I raised to make him keep his distance. "There's nothing suspect about this, I swear. I just wanted to have all my ducks in a row before I told you. I never planned for this, I just let my heart think for me. I'm non compos mentis around you so I had to start thinking on my feet."

"So why the hell didn't it occur to you to engage your god damn genius brain so I didn't get hurt?"

"Because this wasn't supposed to happen!" He grabbed both of my shaking hands in one of his and caged me against the wall, pinning me by the hips with his feet on either side of mine. I saw the frantic throbbing of his pulse in his neck and knew that I was going to be forced to hear him out whether I liked it or not. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I thought we'd spend some reckless times together terrorising the streets of London. You looked like you needed that kind of mischief in your life."

"I did."

"And I thought I might end up drilling you into a few mattresses on occasion. The only reason I didn't at first is because I didn't think you'd appreciate the advance. Sex is usually important to a woman and you're a bigger commitmentphobe than I am." He stopped to draw breath and whimper, visibly battling the impulse to throw me over his shoulder and show me how much of a coward I'd made him, and make sure I damn well liked it. "So this wasn't supposed to happen, Emmeline. We weren't supposed to fal—"

"Oh god," I made a futile attempt at twisting out of his trap, tugging at his grip on my hands urgently, pleadingly. This conversation wasn't welcome, we'd avoided it on purpose. I hadn't planned for it to come up in my inquisition so I wasn't prepared to hear it. "Please don't say it."

He caught my face and stroked back the hair from my eyes. His gaze was intense and turbulent, all of his fears mirroring mine and roiling there. His thumb traced the outline of my lips and he tensed like he was bracing himself for my volatile reaction, leaning away just fractionally. "We weren't supposed to fall in love." A shudder I made no effort to hide shook through me. "I know. You're angry at me— you didn't plan for this either— and I never intended on..." he shrugged and flicked his gaze over me, "... this." His voice softened in surrender. "I never dreamed that it would be both so painful and so... amazing."

Sighing, he rested his forehead against mine and released my hands, which fell bonelessly to my sides. My mind was too tired to go on with the charade. "The fact remains that you're married. I won't be the other woman. You know who I am now, you know it's too much of a scandal. You're friends with my dad— he won't allow it."

"Nobody will know. I don't even know how Tallulah knows, but I won't give you up. What I have is a marriage of convenience— it means nothing to me. I don't love her, never have. I love y—"

"Then why the hell did you marry her?" He looked at me severely for cutting him off and stepped back to free me from his confines. I didn't care if he was annoyed; I couldn't hear those three words. They were too much far too late with way too much heavy baggage. I'd walked through my life believing that marriage was a holy sanction between two people, meaningful and with a view to be permanent. We had no future if his attitude towards a tradition I respected so much was dismissive at best.

"I didn't know that you were going to walk into my life one day. If I'd known, I would have waited for you."

"I thought we had an unspoken no bullshit rule, Blaze. Why did you marry a woman you didn't love?"

"You won't like it," he warned me, posture suddenly hesitantly rigid and almost repulsed. His grip on me slackened and that was the only clue I needed to know that I didn't want to hear it.

"You're right. I won't. So don't say it and go home."

"She's dying." I stared at him blankly for a moment before twisting away from him. He let me, resigned to my disapproval, and stood there with his eyes closed. Those two words were enough. "She's dying and I get everything if I stay with her. All she wanted was to own me for a while when she found out she was ill— she's been crazy about me since school. I'm like the only item on her bucket list. It doesn't matter to her if I don't love her as long as I'm there until the end. The money, the car, the house— I lose that if I walk away now. It's just a matter of time, then we—"

"Stop talking!" Breathing through the burn of tears in the backs of my eyes, I wrapped my arms around myself and sank down to the floor. His wife and the woman he cared for were the same person. I couldn't believe that I hadn't made the connection before. He'd married a sick woman, motivated by her monetary value. No wonder he got on so well with Henry.

For the first time, his behaviour sickened me and there was no way I could work my mind around it in good conscience. The clarification and dirty details hadn't been necessary, but at least he had the decency to look ashamed of himself.

"You're staying with a dying woman just so you get her money? Do you realise how corrupt and selfish that is? She loves you and you look at her as nothing but a cash cow— a pending pay out like all you've been doing is babysitting her. And you expect me to sit around with you waiting for her die so you can marry me and we can spend her money together? I'm rich too, Blaze— at least I'm supposed to be. Will you do the same to me?"

Blaze dropped to his knees and crawled towards me. If I'd been a stronger person, I might have taken some sick satisfaction in it and demanded he dropped down and crawled on his belly for my forgiveness. Really milked it and made him feel like shit on my shoe. But I was too caught up in feeling awful for the poor woman he was scamming.

"Of course not! I don't know Emmeline Tudor, the billionaire's daughter, I know Emmeline White, the piss poor girl too principled to touch dirty money. I gave you that ring before I knew, didn't I? Emmeline, my life is made and secure. I don't have to worry about paying my bills, I sleep in a comfortable bed every night, there's no concern over where my next job comes from... Natasha plays no active role in my life beyond being a job. She's just something I have to do. The only thing that would make my life better would be sharing it all with you— sharing that security."

"Oh god." Natasha. She had a name. That meant she was a real, honest to God, flesh and blood human with a heart, soul, conscience and feelings just like me. The dying victim of a selfish liar. "You have to leave. I have to leave. I have to go to Daniel."

"That bad?" I nodded too much, trying to shake off the warm feeling that threatened to dull the hurt because Blaze knew me well enough to understand Daniel was my Good Samaritan in my darkest moments. "Give me time, please. It won't be much, I promise. She doesn't ha—"

"You want me to sit around waiting for you because she's on death's door? Jesus!" I scrambled to my feet, slapping away his hands when he approached me. "Sit around waiting until you can spare me a minute of your precious uninterrupted time? You're as bad as Hunter."

"Don't you dare say I'm like him!" I gasped at sudden searing flare in Blaze's temper and held my breath— a breath that was knocked out of me when he lunged and dragged me back to the floor. As soon as I recovered from the tumble, he closed his mouth over mine and kissed me with suppressed violence, grinding his hips against me so I could feel how hard he was. How much he wanted me. Needed me. I hated that I needed him too, not just enough to not fight him off, but enough to make me kiss him back.

"I earned your love, Emmeline." He growled against my lips and pushed a hand down beyond the waistband of my trousers. I answered with a moan and felt all the blood in my body push up to my skin and flush me all over like I'd been thrown into a fire. He was slow and deliberate, teasing the soft flesh between my legs with his fingertips. "You need to give me time. I'll make you understand that this is necessary, but I have my ways, Emmeline. This can and will go the way I want it to, and you're the reason why it will. Understand?"

I clamped my teeth down on his lip and didn't let go when I mumbled, "I'm having no part in your warped scheme. You can't make me." It was a challenge. Right then, I was so blinded by my libido that I really wanted to see how he planned to make me fall into line.

"I earned that money. You don't understand why— you can't understand. You just need to accept it."

"No. Ah, god!" Two fingers drove into me and twisted, making it too hard to think. God, I needed him there inside me. I'd needed it since Tallulah had dropped that bombshell on me. He had to catch me and make me see. There was no way he couldn't. I'd have wanted him to chase me until he did.

"I can make you trust me. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," I breathed, pushing down onto him, "you can push your point across by f*cking the hell out of me, then abuse the fact that I let my guard down to make me admit how much I want you to make me see it your way. You can manipulate me into going against all my morals just to hang onto you by my fingernails and spend the rest of my life wondering if I'm just another wealthy woman on your bucket list. So do it already. Make me hate myself."

He left me panting when he pulled away from me and rocked back onto his heels, staring at me like I'd given him proof that the world was flat. The only other time I'd seen him look so lost is when we let ourselves get caught in this nightmare together in that dressing room. We should have parted ways then.

"Cupcake, no. That's not what I'm doing. Is it?" Scrubbing one hand over his face, he held the other out to me to pull me up from the floor, rising when I did. The tormented way he said my pet name made me want to cry again. "I'm not trying to manipulate you, Emmeline. I just want you to stop feeling like what we're doing is wrong."

"It is wrong. You're married."

"The marriage is what is wrong."

"Yes, because you're cheating a terminally ill woman in more ways than one!"

Blaze sighed and held out an arm, giving me the choice to curl up against his chest. I didn't, and I could have kicked myself for it, but he had to know that my morals were a sticking point. That was part of the reason why I would never tell Hunter how I felt. I didn't mess with anyone's relationship, no matter how much I could justify it afterwards.

"You want to forgive me, don't you?"

I nodded and strode over to the couch, slumping down onto it. "Yes. But I can't. I don't get involved in my dad's business so I can deny accountability when he gets caught screwing over the wrong person. I hate anyone who thinks that money is the be all and end all, worth everything and nothing— that everything should come with a price tag and anything should be sacrificed for it is perverse. If you'd betray a friend to make a quick buck, you have no place in my life. And I think that's what you're doing."

Blaze shook his head and sat down next to me. I didn't resist when he took my hand and pressed it to his lips. "I earned that money, Emmeline. I lost my band, my freedom, six years of my life and now I'm losing you for it. Except you might be the one thing I'll regret losing."

"That's because I'm the only one of those things with a voice. Your freedom can't tell you how cold-hearted and sick it is to take advantage of a dying woman who obviously just wanted to love you."

"You don't understand—"

My fingers shot out to pin his lips shut. "I do. I get it. You need the security and stability. Your youth was a f*cked up muddle of suffering from your dad's murder, and conflicted interests between your family and your ambitions. But I'm sorry, Mr Secure; I'm Miss Unstable, and I can't spend an indeterminable amount of waiting in the wings and wishing death on someone who already hurts enough knowing she's cared for by a man who loves her money more than her."

That shred of honesty stung him. It was obvious from the way he seemed to take an inward look at himself and grimace. I might have been proving to him that his motives were all wrong, but he was proving to himself that his beauty theory was right. He was ugly inside, so ugly. I never could have imagined that there was someone so calculating and callous inside him. But he was seeing it for the first time, and I could tell that he didn't like it.

His eyes dropped down to the floor. "If I give up now, every day I've spent caring for her was a waste."

"Was it such a waste if it led you to me?" My finger traced his Cupid's bow and my breath caught.



"... why do we have our scars?"

"Because we're not beyond hope."



He wasn't beyond hope either, that small scar was that tiny glint of light at the end of the tunnel.

I just knew for myself that I couldn't make him walk towards it. That was a journey he had to make for himself.