Blazed

chapter Eleven


THE BROWN PAPER package contained a red gingham swing dress, a pair of white sandals and a small white card tucked into a ribbon around the base of a floppy straw hat much like the one I'd worn to lunch with Ivy. I recognised every item from my own wardrobe apart from the hat and my chest tightened with my knowing who must have been in the flat to find them. The card bore nothing but the words 'I'm sorry' in lavish calligraphy and detailed directions to an unnamed location on the reverse.

"Go on then." Mrs Reynolds peered over my shoulder and shoved me playfully. "You have somewhere to be. It would be rude to keep them waiting." Instantly, I suspected she knew precisely who was waiting and that the package had been hand delivered by the same person. It made too much sense that it would have arrived at a time I would have usually been working rather than during my usual lunch hour. He must have been watching or had her in cahoots— this was just his style.

But I was past the point of incitement. "I still have three hours left of my shift."

"It's hardly a rave in here. I think I have the place under control." Groaning indecisively, I pulled one sandal up from the paper with a fingertip and sighed at it. My mind played through all the scenarios possible. I didn't have a good enough sense of direction to figure out where I was being led to— that alone triggered alarm bells. It didn't necessarily have to be Blaze who sent the package when enough people knew where I kept my spare key.

But what it all really boiled down to was that I'd been focusing so hard on wanting him to turn up that I'd been blocking out how nervous I was to see him again. I'd been dreading a chance encounter in the street, nightmare visions of seeing him wrapped around another woman making the deepest pits of my stomach cartwheel and backflip. It was too likely that I'd snap and act foolishly, either breaking down into tears or throwing myself at him just for him to push me away and tell me that he didn't want me that way anymore. A worst prospect was the disappointment and self-pity if I got myself worked up to see him and it wasn't him waiting for me.

"What do you have to lose?" Mrs Reynolds' question niggled at a point that I also had to consider. I had nothing left to lose. I'd lost everything already. My two men were gone, my family barely present in my life and my friends were feeling dejected. Was I really going to torture myself by seeking him out?

Of course I was. I was one of those people.


THE message on the card filled my mind as I followed the simple directions, finger restlessly brushing across the penmanship as I walked. 'I'm sorry' for what exactly? Sorry that he left? Sorry that he ever arrived? What good was an apology if the reason remained a mystery, and why all this supplementary cloak and dagger bullshit? Just the card would have done without the stupid treasure hunt.

The directions led me to the same restaurant we'd ended up at the day of our smoothie date, specifically to the mezzanine, but the manager there already knew that much. His smile was a little too wise when he led me to the foot of the staircase and paused to pass me a glass of white wine.

"Mr Lundy will join you shortly, Miss White." Mr Lundy? My mouth dropped open an inch to enquire but I just didn't have it in me to speak in that moment. If I did, it wouldn't make sense anyway. Now that the possibility of seeing him was gone, I had to battle through a blind date with a man I didn't know. My strength was best saved for that.

Slowly, I ascended the steps with high hopes for more wine waiting, barely noticing the gentle lilt of music coming from the mezzanine. As soon as I noticed that, I noticed the scattered pink, red and white petals creeping up the top most steps and the scent of fragrant blossoms.

The terrace looked much different from the last time I was there. The tables were missing, replaced with a large arrangement of multicoloured satin cushions set in a closed circle and a white blanket between them, laid out across the wooden decking. The petals that had trailed in surrounded the cushions, and around those were four cross-hatched privacy screens interwoven with honeysuckle. That was the overpowering perfume that filled the bizarrely intimate scene.

"Do you like it?" The voice snuck up on me, sweet and cajoling, sudden enough to make me jump but soft enough for it to only be a small surprise. Eyes stuck to the display, I stiffened on the spot and tightened my grip around the stem of the wine glass.

"You did this for me?"

"You said nobody had taken you on a real date before. I had to rectify that situation."

I still couldn't bear to look at him as I paced towards the cushion circle— it was worse knowing that he'd abandoned his responsibilities for some kind of extravagant pity parade. I'd avoided dates on purpose and it was to avoid shitty situations like these.

"I was told I was waiting for a Mr Lundy."

"You didn't think I'd put all my effort into this just to send another man, did you? You wound me." Not as deeply as he wounded me, but he was surrendering information I'd been hungry for since we met. Blaze Lundy? Christ, no wonder he kept it under his hat. It was a small insight into a man with too much character to contain in one body— a secret shame. "I think my mother thought giving me an awesome forename would make up for it. You can imagine the hassle I got in secondary school when they started teaching us French." Lundy— Lundi, the French translation of Monday. Yeah, I could see that leading to a bad nickname. So did that mean...

"Monday, Lundi, Lundy... Lundy's Miracle?" Was the band closer to his heart than anyone would ever realise?

"They certainly were. They did me proud." Fabulous. Why the hell was he telling me now? I felt him take a step towards me and took an instinctive self-preservative step forward to keep the distance. The minute he touched me— hell, even the moment I could smell him would be the moment I came apart at the seams. "Whatever I did wrong, I'm sorry."

"You don't even know what you did?" I snapped back at him, glad to feel the invigorating stab of annoyance through my stupor.

"Well no. I've been staring at my phone since Sunday waiting for it to ring or just buzz with a message."

"You said you'd call me, genius!" Feeling the ire building, I divested myself of my sandals, more than a little sick of their straps digging into my ankles. I'd always hated them for that reason and I was irrationally pissed off at Blaze for not realising that it was why he'd found them in a box instead of loose like all my other shoes. "You sack me off with a classic line then turn up all resentful that I didn't chase you?"

"How do you know classic lines if you've never—"

"Because I don't live under a f*cking rock!" Spinning around, I catapulted each sandal at him in turn with impressive aim and force. It was the worst mistake I could have made.

Blaze never looked more divine in two pieces of a malapropos grey three piece suit that had to be stifling in the heat, a world away from his usual casual attire. He'd really gone all out. His eyes snapped up to meet mine after he deftly caught the projectile footwear and hit me with the full force of all that contradictory knowledgeable wonder I'd grown far too fond of over the summer months. I held my breath, like breathing would intensify the strength of his power over me, willing myself to stand strong and not succumb to the trembling legs that wanted to buckle, pulling me down to the ground to kneel in front of him.

No, to use his own words, 'f*ck it'. I surrendered to that will and folded over, knees and palms flat on the decking. Anywhere was safer than being on his eye level.

"I didn't think you were coming back."

"Why wouldn't I?"

My eyes flickered up to glare at his knees. "Don't insult me with faux-ignorance. You know why."

"I don't, I—" His feet seemed to approach at an unearthly slow pace. He didn't talk as he walked, not a word until he crouched down in front of me. "Japan guy? You thought I'd walk away over that?"

"You found out all my junk in one morning, Blaze. Expecting you to be okay with it is unrealistic."

"I'm not okay with it." I immediately went lax when he rocked back on his heels and pulled me over to sit in the fold of his crossed legs. The smell of him cloaked me like gossamer— heavy like an evening perfume, hopelessly masculine and intoxicating. I'd missed his smell and now that it was back again, I was going to forgive him. I was helpless against him. "But I wouldn't leave you over any of it. God knows my heart wouldn't let me."

"You said you'd call."

"So did you." I leaned back to look up and frown at him. Even when he was trying to be serious, his face was always smiling. What I would have given to be that at peace with life. "You don't remember. You told me on Saturday that you'd call whenever you needed me. I guess it was pretty stupid to think you'd remember."

"So why didn't you call? Or just send a message?"

He shrugged. "I didn't want to bombard you. I wasn't lying when I said I'd call you, but after Sunday I didn't want to make anything worse." My frown deepened, prompting him to explain. "You lost a friend because of me, Emmeline. Even if I do get the impression that he's a pretty poor friend, that was still my fault. That's what I thought you were mad about. Plus, you know, I didn't want to suffocate you with neediness. I was waiting for a green light."

All the angst because he felt guilty? Was this really all crossed wires? I didn't want it to be, I sorely wanted a reason to hate him and had nothing but petty slim pickings. "You did answer my phone."

"So I'm not house broken. I've never made any claims to being perfect— I can't help that the world holds me to ridiculously high ideals just because I'm attractive." He had a point. I didn't know much about him, but I knew enough to know that he didn't flaunt his aesthetics and use them as an excuse to act like a fool the way other people in his position did. He was very modest, evident from the way he sacrificed Monday's Miracle to be a carer. The preconceived notions that he was flawless were consequential of that beautiful face. "I have a theory, you know. A theory designed to distract you long enough for you to forgive me."

"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.

"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.

" 'Good enough'?" He raised his hand when I tore my eyes away from him, showing me that he didn't need the clarification. "If it makes you feel better, you're perfect for me. I wouldn't change a thing."

It did. Regardless of everything else that had happened since our night at The Roses, he pulled me out of the eye of the storm into the swirling winds of the squall that would toss me around like a rag doll until such a time it spat me out and let me crash back to ground disgracefully. I had a feeling that Blaze would be crashing with me.