Page 24 of Embrace Me Forever

Her delayed reply and the slight furrow of her brow feel wrong. It’s as if she’s grasping for a lie she hasn’t quite perfected. But I take her there anyway, trusting that time will reveal what she’s holding back.

We drive in silence for a few minutes, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across her face. I steal glances at her, trying to gauge her mood. This time, all I see is exhaustion.

“Here we are,” I announce. “I’ll get your bags.” I step out of the car, circling the trunk to retrieve her suitcase.

As I bring it over to her side of the car, I’m dying to tell her how stunning she looks tonight. Everything about her emanates perfection, a rare vision of beauty that seldom crosses my path. I’m sure everyone at dinner must have complimented her, yet no amount of praise seems sufficient for a woman of her extraordinary allure. If only life were simpler and I were truly just her chauffeur.

But my awe soon tangles with creeping guilt. My research says she’s twenty-six, and she certainly looks it. And here I am, a man just turned forty, ensnared by emotions I ought to resist. Am I overstepping or merely toying with the boundaries of propriety? My principles to remain unattached now teeters on the brink, disrupted by the very complexities I’ve invited.

She takes the bags with a small smile, her fingers brushing against mine briefly. “Thank you, Mr. Blake.”

“Anytime, Ms. Williams,” I reply, watching as she walks away. No hug then?

A pang of disappointment hits me, but I quickly compose myself. She’s still a potential enemy, and building a connection with her could come at a high price.

She only gives me a small wave before heading inside, and I sit there for a moment. Georgia-May has never been good at concealing her nervousness. In the lobby, she looks around, clearly lost. Something isn’t right, and although my instincts might still be a wet noodle tonight, I decide to wait and see.

And the truth quickly unravels when I see her sneaking out, hailing a cab.

My chest tightens as I trail her to the outskirts of the city, where she pulls into a run-down motel, a far cry from the five-star luxury she just left. I park a safe distance away and watch as she checks into a room, her shoulders slumping with the burdenof her hidden life. Whatever it is, I’ll soon know if Georgia-May Williams is a threat or just a woman caught in a web of her own making.

As I sit in my car, I notice two men walking straight to the door of her room, entering with their own key.

Oh, Georgia-May…

A mix of anger and disappointment creeps in, sending aching pulses through my gut. She might think she can outsmart us, but she’s about to learn that I’m not easily fooled. This is just the beginning, and I’m ready for whatever comes next.

After exiting my car quietly, I approach Georgia-May’s room, my steps silent but swift. The cool night air presses against my skin as I move, as if warning me of what’s to come. I linger at the corner of the building, quickly concealing myself behind a partition as one of the men comes out to collect ice from the machine outside.

He’s made several trips now, lugging bucket after bucket. How much ice do you need to chill champagne for three people?

On his next trip, I watch him closely, noting the way his eyes dart around as if he’s aware of being observed. The aching pulses in my gut snowball into a sick feeling. This isn’t about ice.

As soon as Georgia-May’s room door closes, I move to stand outside, pressing my ear against the door. The muffled sounds of a struggle reach me, the faint scuffle of feet and low voices setting my nerves on edge.

I walk in. The man didn’t even bother to lock the door. The scene inside freezes me for a split second. Georgia-May is being forced into an ice bath, her body thrashing weakly against the man holding her under. Another man stands nearby, demanding with a cold tone.

“Password, Miss O’Connor!” he barks, his voice devoid of mercy, unaware of my presence.

Anger mounts within me. Regardless of her allegiances, no one—absolutely no one—does that to a woman. Not on my watch!

“Get your hands off her!” I shout, charging forward. The man holding her looks up, startled but too late to react. I yank him away from the bath with a forceful grip, throwing him across the room. He crashes into the cheap dresser, collapsing in a heap.

The second man lunges at me, but I’m ready. A quick punch to his jaw sends him staggering back. I follow up with a knee to his stomach, and he crumples to the floor, gasping for breath.

I turn back to the bath. Georgia-May is barely conscious, her lips tinged blue, eyes half-closed. I lift her out of the icy water, her body shivering violently.

“It’s okay. They’ll never lay a hand on you again,” I murmur, wrapping her in a towel and drying her as best I can. Her skin is clammy, and her once-stunning red dress is in tatters. The fabric is ripped in several places, hanging off her breasts and torn at the side, exposing bruises and scrapes.

She whimpers. Her eyes flutter open, but they lack focus, unable to recognize me in her disoriented state. Yet, I hope she somehow senses my intention to help, to prevent her from descending further into shock.

Her dress, saturated with icy water, clings to her shivering form. I know I must remove it if I have any chance of drying her, of offering even a sliver of warmth.

“You’re going to be all right,” I reassure her. She’s freezing, but I hold her tight, hoping to draw her coldness into me and replace it with my own body heat.

Her lips tremble, emitting a few incoherent words, a testament to the toll the ordeal has exacted on her. And now, I am about to add to her anguish.

“I’m sorry, but I have to do this,” I whisper.

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