Page 55 of Embrace Me Forever

Blake quickly retrieves it, opening it for her. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

“Minnie!”

I let out a sigh of relief. Thanks to Blake heeding my request to return to the house, Coco’s beloved Minnie Mouse blanket is within reach. How distraught she would’ve been without it! Blake drapes the blanket over her small shoulders while I continue rocking her.

The flight attendant brings out another charming surprise. “A gift from the other Mrs. Hartley,” she explains.

Coco’s eyes sparkle at the sight of the cuddly teddy bear. She clutches it tightly as I lay her back in the crib. Snuggled into her blanket, she soon drifts into sleep. I kiss her forehead, whispering hopes for sweet dreams among the clouds.

“I remember Rob mentioning that his wife Amber is a teddy bear doctor?” I remark, watching Coco embrace her new friend.The conversation from our dinner, now a distant memory, comes to mind.

“That’s right. She not only mends them, she makes them,” Blake replies.

“That’s impressive!” I express, admiring the teddy bear’s craftsmanship.

“Her clients often call her Ambear,” he chuckles lightly.

I join in the laughter, charmed by the affectionate nickname.

Then I rise, stretching my limbs with a series of soft grunts.

“Sit down.” Blake guides me back to my seat with a touch that borders on reverent. “Stay here, don’t move.”

He assumes the role of caretaker, draping a luxurious blanket over my shoulders, bringing me tea, and coordinating lunch with the flight attendant, all with a genuine smile. The shadows beneath his watchful eyes betray his fatigue, yet his vigilance never wanes. He has been on high alert for hours, watchful for any sign of our pursuers. However, his concern isn’t only for our immediate safety. It’s also for Coco’s and my comfort.

While I sink into the plush seat, the flight attendant busily prepares a few sandwiches with all the trimmings. Meanwhile, Blake, with a knack for timing, mixes a couple of drinks. The quiet clink of ice against glass reminds me that this isn’t just a flight. It’s five-star luxury on steroids. All thanks to the dashing bartender—well, bartender cum bodyguard—tending at the counter.

Ironically, this Blake—the protector, the carer—will only be in my life for as long as the danger from Bertram lasts. I will still choose safety over longing, but it makes me discontent. I want the Blake whose embrace I crave in the quiet of night, a man dedicated to my pleasure. Every day, every night.

As if tugged by my scrutiny, he looks at me sideways while still fussing at the bar. “You okay there, Code Queen?” he asks.That nickname, honestly, is the best thing anyone’s ever called me.

“Yeah,” I reply. Though despite the title boost, I conclude that, in all probability, the depths of what I desire from him may forever remain beyond my reach.

Then he turns around. “Behold, my magnum opus. Citrus Sentinel!” Blake announces with the dramatic flair of a magician revealing a rabbit from a hat.

I can’t help but chuckle at the creative name. Matching his flair, I bring the glass to my lips with an elegant flourish and sip. The vibrant flavors burst immediately. The blend of tangy lime and sweet orange is exhilarating and calming in equal measure. Much as I want to collapse into Blake’s sturdy frame and unload my own cocktail of thoughts, his crafted drink seizes my complete attention.

“Just what I need!” I declare, my spirits lifting. My heart beats with a steady rhythm, and I draw a deep, fulfilling breath. The air feels purer than anything I’ve breathed on the ground, as if all the heaviness has been filtered away.

Blake takes the seat beside me, his initial focus on the citrus masterpiece in his hand shifting. The space between us draws his gaze irresistibly back.

“You’ve done so much for Coco and me,” I whisper.

“I’d do it all over again,” Blake responds.

Silence ensues, punctuated only by the soft clink of our glasses as we set them down, lift them again, and then set them down again, savoring our drinks and the quiet lunch.

After the flight attendant clears our table, Blake retains his napkin, turning toward me. “Stay still,” he says, dabbing at the corner of my mouth. “Tomato sauce,” he notes.

I catch the intensity in his gray gaze as he studies my lips. It isn’t about the sauce, nor its absence now. I recognize that intensity. It mirrors the longing within me, a fire wrapped infrost that would flare in my eyes if I were to look at my own reflection. In there, I understand he’s ready to reclaim the closeness that was almost ours before the mad dash to safety. He’s eager to start weaving the threads we’d left fraying.

The quiet between us grows dense, converging in this moment, awaiting our next move.

Slowly, Blake’s posture eases, the rigid lines of his shoulders softening. His gaze lets out a vulnerability he seldom shows. My breath hitches as he reaches out, his hand warm and sure as it settles over mine.

“Do you want me, Georgia-May? The beast? The lost soul?” he whispers, his voice so intimate that it feels like we are alone in our own secluded world. Despite the chaos that accompanied our escape from Bertram’s men, he remembers exactly where our last moment of connection paused.

Words fail me, but my eyes hold a message meant only for him. There’s a reason our eyes were created the same shade. So we can interpret each other without a single word.

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