Embrace Me Forever (Hartley Brothers #3)

8. Blake

8

BLAKE

Georgia-May isn’t just a rogue academic or low-profile programmer; she’s the linchpin in a gambit aimed at Hartley Marine. The hooded man, her sudden departure from her job at the University, and her following disappearance all point to a conspiracy greater than her lone ambitions. Yet, everything remains a hypothesis as concrete evidence proves elusive. But with the immense value of Hartley Marine on the line—a prize worth billions—caution eclipses complacency. In this high-stakes game, it’s guilty until proven innocent.

Now she’s back. Perhaps the allure of dining with billionaires and the prospect of a substantial payoff proved irresistible, or she has been directed to proceed with the next step. I didn’t get the chance to drive her from the airport, but now I find myself on standby, lingering outside the restaurant. From my vantage point, I only catch glimpses of her among the patrons. But I see red, both literally and metaphorically.

My failure to track her in Denver stung, still does. My sniffer dog instincts, usually so reliable, had flopped into a wet noodle. It wasn’t clouded judgment. Hell, I wanted to find her! She leads her life in an unconventional rhythm—or perhaps no rhythm at all. She could almost be compared to a hermit. However, her cave isn’t her apartment. It’s somewhere else entirely, a place I couldn’t manage to uncover.

Worse still, the defeat triggered a twisted alchemy of emotions. My brain stretches to its breaking point, my ego inflates like a damn puffer fish, and my body—God, my body reacts like it’s been poisoned every time I admit just how fucking irresistible she is.

Inside the restaurant, the group’s body language is shifting from business to casual farewells. I straighten up and prepare, positioning myself in front of the entrance. My job tonight is to make sure Georgia-May gets to her hotel.

As the door swings open, my breath catches. Georgia-May steps out, and for a moment, everything else fades away. After all these weeks of trying to track her down, she’s finally standing in front of me. It’s almost surreal, like a mirage solidifying into reality.

She’s stunning in her red dress, the color so vivid it seems to pulse in the dim light. The dress hugs her figure perfectly, elegantly flowing as she moves, and her dark hair cascades over her shoulders like a waterfall of midnight. Her beauty is even more mesmerizing than memory serves.

Rob and Clayton flank her, their expressions relaxed and slightly amused as they chat. Rob catches sight of me and raises a hand in greeting. “Blake, there you are. Ready to take Georgia-May to her hotel?”

So, they’re on a first-name basis now.

I greet her, “Ms. Williams, good to see you again.”

Her eyes meet mine, and I see a flicker of hesitation. There’s something else there, too. Recognition, maybe? Does she know I’ve been looking for her?

“I can manage on my own, really,” she tells Rob, escaping my gaze. “There’s no need to trouble him.”

Rob shakes his head. “Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all. Blake’s here for that very reason.”

Clayton chimes in, “It’s late, Georgia-May. Better safe than sorry.”

She casts an eye on me, and I offer a reassuring smile. “It’s no trouble, really. I’m happy to help.”

Her shoulders relax a fraction, though she still seems reluctant. “All right, if you’re sure.”

“That’s settled, then.” Rob extends his hand as if entrusting her to me, his grin widening. “Blake, make sure she gets there safely.”

“Of course,” I reply, my tone firm, still marveling at the fact that she’s here.

I open the car door for her, and as she slides into the passenger seat, I can’t help but notice the subtle strain in her posture. After all the dead ends and frustration, she’s finally within reach. What would I give to feel her hug me again, like when she thanked me after her first presentation?

Once I’m behind the wheel, I take a quick peek at her through the mirror. “You okay?”

She sighs, looking out the window. “Yeah, yeah. It’s been a long day.”

“We’ll be at your hotel soon,” I say soothingly. “May I ask which one?”

She pauses for a moment, pondering. “Um, Four Seasons.”

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 burden of 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.

I tear away the remnants of fabric still clinging to her body. A painful moan escapes her lips as she convulses, her hands instinctively reaching to shield her exposed breasts. I allow her this small moment of privacy, yanking a blanket off the tightly made bed and securing it around her trembling form.

Quickly, I help her sit up. “We’ve got to go now.”

I gather all her belongings, shoving them into her suitcase. We’ve got to disappear before those men wake up and any others who might be on their way.

With determination, I lift Georgia-May into my arms. At this point, I wouldn’t blame her if she tried to push me away after all she’s been through. But I cradle her as firmly but impassively as I can, making it clear that my intent is only to protect her.

Her body is light and frail against me. At that moment, she leans into my chest, her breathing shallow but gradually evening out.

“Mr. Blake,” she sighs, barely above a whisper.

“I’ve got you, Ms. Williams,” I assure her, suppressing the fury boiling inside me. Whoever the sick bastard behind this is, how dare they reduce such a vibrant young woman to this trembling shell. I don’t give a damn if she tried to outsmart me or extort money from Hartley Marine. She doesn’t deserve this.

We make our way back to my car, her suitcase dragging along the gravel behind us. She clings to me, refusing to untangle herself when I guide her into the passenger seat as if I were about to let her slip into a gaping void. But she finally releases her grip, and I rewrap the blanket around her since it had shifted during the walk.

“Please. I…I…” Her jaw quivers, stopping her from finishing her sentence. Her face is pale, and her eyes are wide with lingering terror.

I place a palm on her cheek. My hand feels unusually warm against her frigid skin. “We can talk later.”

As I drive off, my eyes constantly flick to the rearview mirror, ensuring no one follows. With the car’s heater on high, her shivering gradually subsides. After a few miles, once certain we’re alone, I pull over to the side of the road. The area is deserted, a perfect spot to check on her without drawing attention.

I head to the trunk and open her suitcase, searching for a change of clothes. I grab a sweater and a pair of jeans and hand them to her, saying, “Put these on.”

Slowly, her hands emerge from the bundled blanket, trembling.

“Do you need any help?” I ask, concerned.

She stammers, “I…I’m fine.”

I leave her to change in peace. Resisting the drag of the whirlpool inside me, I start rummaging through her bag and suitcase, looking for any tracking devices those men might’ve planted. My fingers move quickly, methodically, but I find nothing. There’s one more bag I have yet to search, but I hear Georgia-May struggling with something, most likely her jeans.

“Are you okay there?” I ask before going back to the front.

“Yeah. Just a moment.” She sighs. I can see her legs fluttering out of the passenger seat.

My attention has been on her all this time. Only now do I realize I look like someone who took a dip in the Sacramento River with my whole suit on. I take off my jacket and shirt, replacing them with a spare canvas jacket I keep in the backseat.

“I’m done,” murmurs Georgia-May.

“All right, I’m coming,” I give her a heads up, taking the remaining bag I haven’t searched.

Crouching by the passenger door, I notice her sitting stiffly, her face turned toward me, yet her eyes reluctant to meet mine.

Is she still embarrassed?

Does she want to get rid of me now?

The idea that she might not want anything to do with me is disconcerting. I can’t bear the thought of this being the end of our time together—the end of us. Us . The word feels both wonderful and urgent, even if I can’t fully grasp what it means.

I’m dying to squeeze her hand and offer more comfort, but I maintain my distance. “How are you feeling?” I ask, finally catching her gaze.

As if the gravity of the attack is just sinking in, she breaks down in tears. She puts her arms around me but hesitates to come closer.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you again,” I tell her. My life has been a series of calculated moves, protecting assets, neutralizing threats. But at this moment, her status as foe or friend is irrelevant. My innate impulse to protect leaps to the forefront, overwhelming all else. This is not about duty. This is about being a man, about being the protector she needs right now.

Her demeanor hints at surrender, and it feels almost instinctual for me to pull her into an embrace.

She clings to me, sobbing. “Please.” Her voice cracks with desperation. “Don’t call the police. Don’t tell your bosses.”

I stroke her back soothingly, my mind racing. “Let’s talk about that later. For now, I’m taking you to my place.”

She nods feebly, slowly withdrawing from me. I reluctantly let her go, still wanting to hold her a bit longer. I feel a strange sense of purpose—not in catching evil, but in keeping her away from harm. When was the last time I truly took care of someone? Not out of necessity, but with tenderness, with…love?

This could be my own version of shock—my mind, usually unshakeable, veering completely off-tangent.

Before we depart, I search her last bag and pull out her phone. I’m about to toss it, but her hand shoots out to stop me.

“Wait! I need to call someone.”

“You can use mine later. I don’t trust this.” I hold up her phone, emphasizing my point. “They might’ve tampered with it.”

She lets it go, her trust in me clear despite her fear. I step out of the car and smash the phone against the curb. The pieces scatter and I toss the remains into a nearby sewer hole. Now, no one can track us through it.

“How about your laptop?” I ask, climbing back into the car.

She shakes her head. “I’ve encrypted everything. No one can get in.”

I inspect the laptop for any attached devices. There’s nothing. Satisfied, I hand it back to her. “All right. You can keep it.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the hum of the car’s heater the only sound.

She responds, her tight features slowly yielding. “Thank you.”

The atmosphere between us has changed. There’s a bond forming here, something deeper than protector and protected. It’s unspoken but palpable, a connection that goes beyond the immediate danger. I don’t know where it will lead, but for now, I’m determined to see her through this.

Georgia-May hasn’t revealed much yet, but for the love of God, she’s not an evil person. Even if I set aside all my feelings for her right now, I see a desperation that speaks of someone caught in circumstances beyond her control.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, starting the car again. “Now, let’s get you to a safe place.”

I feel for her. Despite the fake information she’s given the Hartleys, something about her feels incredibly real and vulnerable.

The rest of the drive is silent, but I keep surveying her, making sure she’s holding up.

We finally arrive at my house, a simple detached property on the outskirts of L.A. I could’ve chosen Beverly Hills or Malibu, but I prefer a less conspicuous area. Despite its unassuming exterior, my home is equipped with a state-of-the-art security system.

I help Georgia-May out of the car, keeping a protective arm around her as I open the front door.

As we enter, a bark causes her to flinch and instinctively press closer to me. It isn’t fear of dogs that startles her, but the synthetic timbre of the sound.

“Oh…” She catches sight of Poppy and pauses, her eyes widening at the sight of the sleek metallic dog whose tail wags with mechanical precision. Georgia-May turns to me, an unspoken question in her gaze.

“Okay, go ahead and judge me, but I’m rarely home. And honestly, nurturing a living thing isn’t exactly my strong suit. Opting for a robot dog is me being responsible,” I justify.

She giggles. “I have nothing against a cyborg dog. I think it’s adorable—or he or she is.”

“It’s a she, her name’s Poppy. She’s supposed to be a bull terrier,” I clarify, still studying her face. “You’re thinking. Come on, you are judging me!” I jest.

Her giggles turn into a carefree smile. In another time, I could easily see her as an unwitting heart-stealer.

“No, I’m not judging!” she denies. “I just didn’t think you’d be the type who’d have a robot dog. I thought you might’ve kept?—”

“Kept what?”

“A cat. Perhaps a clingy one.”

I laugh out loud, shaking my head. Then I command, “Poppy, bed!” Obediently, the robotic canine moves to her designated spot, settling down with a quiet whir.

Georgia-May’s laughter and the quirky charm of the situation ease the earlier tension, knitting a moment of unexpected companionship between us. And boy, don’t we both need it!

I light the fireplace, and she settles into a chair, extending her hands toward the flames, rotating her palms. Her gaze occasionally drifts back to Poppy, still clearly intrigued by my unconventional pet.

“Please don’t get any ideas about reprogramming her,” I caution.

Her lips curve up. “Now, there’s a thought!”

I offer her a mock-stern look before softening. “Feel free to take a shower, or a bath if you want. I mean, a warm one, not a polar plunge,” I add with a wink.

She chuckles, her eyes looking a little brighter. “Maybe later,” she sighs. “For now, just…just stay with me.”

I pull up a chair beside her. “I’m not going anywhere, and this house is safe.”

She presses her lips, considering my words. “In that case, I’ll have that shower then.”

“Good idea.” I offer her my hand, helping her up from the chair. With a light hand on her back, I guide her upstairs. Though my pants are reasonably dry now, thanks to the car heater, my soaked underwear feels like a pair of cheap swimming trunks. Maybe I need that shower as badly as she does.

Georgia-May stays close as I stride ahead of her.

“I’ll put your things in this room,” I gesture at the open door of the guest bedroom next to the bathroom.

“Thanks.”

“Towels, soap, and shampoo are inside. Just yell if you need anything else.”

I watch her disappear into the bathroom. This might be the beginning of something deeper, a connection forged in the fires of danger and, ironically, mistrust. We’ve crossed a line we can never retreat from. She won’t be hiding anymore. I won’t allow it. Tonight, she will reveal her true self. My guard will stay up, but just this time, I’ll let my skeptical edge slip for her.