Embrace Me Forever (Hartley Brothers #3)

11. Georgia-May

11

GEORGIA-MAY

I flutter my eyes open. I’m lying belly down, one arm dangling over the couch, with blankets messily shrouding me. How on earth did I shift around in my sleep? I can’t remember a thing.

Then, a pair of puppy eyes captures my gaze.

“Oh, hello there,” I greet Poppy, her whirring tail and the curious tilt of her head stirring a smile in me. Waking up to a robot pet was never on my bucket list, yet here she is, making my morning unexpectedly delightful.

Not far from the mechanical marvel, another figure looms, sporting a different kind of puppy eyes. Undoubtedly human and sinfully tempting, like an espresso shot too bold for the early hours.

“Morning,” Blake says, striding toward me. “I was just about to wake you.”

“Morning,” I rasp, sleepily brushing back a loose strand of hair, a gesture far too casual for waking up in front of such a gorgeous semi-stranger. Yet, in his presence, I find a surprising sense of comfort. Blake, in his well-worn T-shirt and loose track pants, still manages to look disarmingly handsome. His hair is tousled, his lids heavy, and his T-shirt hangs off one shoulder, lending him an accidentally seductive disarray.

I check the clock. “I should get ready.”

Rising swiftly, I walk past him before I can succumb to any foolish impulses. The moments just after waking are hardly the time to test my self-control, especially on such scant sleep. I know how he looks, but I don’t know what I look like—most likely far from Sleeping Beauty’s pristine repose and more akin to Rapunzel’s tresses tangled in a century-long slumber.

After a shower, I step out of my room, fully dressed and ready to go. But the moment my eyes land ahead, I freeze, stumbling back.

“Georgia-May, what’s with the dramatics?”

I exhale, brushing off the jolt of adrenaline as Blake steps closer. With his leather jacket and slicked-back hair, he looks more like a biker from a crime drama than, well, himself. “Sorry, I thought you were…someone else.”

He smirks, one brow quirking up. “And here I was, hoping I was unforgettable.”

I bite back a grin. “Maybe ditch the undercover mobster look next time, and I’ll recognize you.”

His laugh is warm, and I try to ignore the fact that my heart’s still racing. For more than one reason.

“It’s my non-chauffeur look,” he adds.

We grab a quick breakfast, then Blake loads my suitcase into the car and shuts the trunk. “Ready to go?” he asks, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

Maybe he’s done this a hundred times for the Hartleys’ guests, but I like to think his smile has something to do with me. Because when I see it that way, it makes me happy he’s here.

“Ready,” I reply.

The ride to the airport is surprisingly smooth. The city is still waking up. Despite the calm, I can feel the undercurrent of his vigilance, his eyes darting to the mirrors and scanning the road for any potential trouble.

As we drive, he updates me on his guy in Denver, his former colleague who’s been keeping an eye on Anne and Coco. “Everything is okay,” he reassures me. It’s a small victory, but in my world, it means everything.

The airport looms ahead before I’m even ready. Blake had told me he’d checked us in. He stays by my side, guiding me through the maze of security and checkpoints with an ease that speaks of frequent travel. Just as I’m about to follow him to our gate, he stops and turns to me, a glint in his eye.

“I’ve got a little surprise for you,” he says, pulling two digital boarding passes from his phone. “With my membership, I managed to upgrade us to business class.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “Blake, you didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs, his lips tugged in a smile. “I promised we’d sit side by side, didn’t I? Consider it a perk of traveling with me.”

I can’t help but grin as we make our way to the business class lounge—one I usually glance over with a tinge of envy. The seats are luxurious, and the atmosphere is calm and quiet, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of the airport outside. We down more coffee as we wait, but before we know it, our flight is called.

Boarding is swift, and soon, Blake and I settle into our seats. This flight might be more enjoyable than I’d anticipated.

The plane ascends, leaving the Los Angeles skyline behind as the morning sun finally makes its appearance. Blake shifts in his seat, sitting up before slouching down. He turns to look out the window, trying to avoid my scrutiny, but it doesn’t mask the fatigue etched into his face. His eyes, usually sharp and alert, are now shadowed with exhaustion. I doubt he got even a blink of sleep last night.

“Blake.” I nudge his arm. He offers me a faint smile, clearly struggling. “You should get some rest. I’ll be fine.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I place my hand on his arm. “Really, just close your eyes.”

After hesitating, he relents. “All right, but wake me if you need anything.” His voice is already fading as he leans back into his seat. Within minutes, the tension in his features ease as he slips into a much-needed sleep.

I watch him for a while, my gaze tracing the lines of his profile. His strong jaw is tempered by a neat beard, one he just trimmed this morning. I heard his shaver. There’s something rugged, yet gentle about him, a combination that I find incredibly irresistible. His chest rises and falls, and I can’t help but marvel at the quiet strength he exudes even in his sleep.

Reaching for the blanket, I unfold it carefully and drape it over him. It’s a small gesture, but it feels significant, especially after he did the same for me last night. Though my sleep was short, it was deep, something I can’t remember experiencing for a long time.

The plane flies steadily toward Denver, the first hour slipping by unnoticed. As if stirred by an unseen nudge, Blake opens his eyes and turns to me.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I whisper, imagining how I’d say it if we woke up together somewhere else.

He chuckles, appreciating my playful greeting. “Are we there yet?”

“Halfway,” I reply, still giddy from seeing him wake up.

Blake notices the blanket over him and shoots me a grin. Damn! Sleep deprivation has no right to make him look this scrummy.

He wipes his face and quickly runs his fingers through his hair. He says, “After we land, I’ll drive you to Colorado Springs. And we’ll talk about the next steps.”

My trust in him is absolute now. I want him to meet my daughter. Apart from her doctors, she hasn’t known, let alone gotten close to, a man. “Would you like to meet Coco-Rae?”

He smiles so sincerely that it almost feels like he’s about to cry. “Of course, I’d love to meet her.” His deep voice lifts emotion.

“I don’t have her photo anywhere. But I guess you’ll see her in person. She’s a happy baby despite her illness.”

He leans in closer, perhaps almost wishing he could make the armrests between us disappear. Then, with an impossibly soulful gaze, he murmurs, “Maybe because her mother loves her so much.”

I blink furiously to stop my tears from falling, my insides a complete mess, when he reaches out and takes my hand.

“Blake…” I quiver. “You’re really willing to protect us?”

“With every breath in my body.”

The grit in his voice takes center stage, clearly coming from the heart. His body tenses, the muscles in his jaw tightening as if he can barely contain his determination. He flings his long arms toward me, effortlessly bridging the gap between our seats.

Fierce protectiveness radiates from within him, wrapping around me like a promise etched into his very soul. All I can do is close my eyes, taking him in. When I open them again, he’s even closer. The space between us shrinks until it’s nonexistent. His breath mingles with mine, warm and soft.

“Georgia-May,” he whispers, quickening my pulse. “I…”

I don’t let him finish. I close the distance between us, my lips meeting his. It’s a sweet, winsome brush, a question and an answer all at once. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair as he deepens the kiss ever so slightly.

There’s a moment of perfect stillness, a suspended second where it’s just the two of us. His lips move against mine as if he’s pouring all his unspoken feelings into this kiss. I respond instinctively, lifting off my seat to bypass the armrests between us. My hands climb up to rest on his broad shoulders, fingers weaving through the fabric of his shirt.

As we finally part, he keeps his eyes closed, releasing a deep sigh before he dares to meet my gaze. A storm gathers behind his irises.

My smile is tentative, hoping to transform those dark clouds into a burst that signals he wants more. I lean forward, aiming to capture his lips once more, to rekindle the spark that had just ignited. But he pulls away, a clear line drawn, his expression devoid of desire.

“Georgia-May, this can’t happen again.” His words throb with an aching intensity. His eyes are filled with anguish, pleading for me to understand why he has to pull away.

I shift myself back, my movement awkward. A blush of embarrassment sweeps over my cheeks, heating my skin in a visible confession of my discomfort. My hands flutter to my lap, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt in a futile attempt to calm myself.

Without looking at him, I blurt out, “We still have an hour or so. Feel free to go back to sleep.” It’s a random thing to say, but the words just tumbled out as if silence would’ve been worse. And he knows—his rejection has fueled the disappointment inside me.

Blake turns his gaze toward the flight attendant, who moves diligently up and down the aisle, offering a last round of drinks and snacks. Eventually, he declines the offer, and so do I. I’m silently grateful that he still has the decency to show, albeit with a simple gesture, that he’s too preoccupied to eat or drink. I shudder to think how I would have felt had he chosen to indulge in tea and cookies.

His gaze is fixed on the seatback in front of him, avoiding any accidental eye contact. His hands grip the armrests with such intensity that his knuckles whiten as if bracing against an invisible turbulence. The way he deliberately avoids me paints a clear picture of a man grappling with the repercussions of our too-close encounter.

As the plane descends, the Denver cityscape comes into view, bathed in the morning sunlight. Under different circumstances, after that botched first kiss, I would’ve walked out of the airport alone, shrugging him off like unwanted baggage. But, like it or not, Coco and I need him. I’m forced to make concessions, relegating my pride to the sidelines.

The wheels touch down, and the reality of our tangled predicament lands just as hard.

Facing Anne with Blake in tow will undoubtedly give her ample ammunition to poke fun at me. And how I loathe having to say, ‘We’re just friends.’

Stepping out of the plane, I feel an absurd sense of isolation. Blake is here, unlike my usual solitary commutes when everything felt like it rested on my shoulders. Yet, I still feel just as alone.

He let me keep one of his ‘everyman’ phones. I use it to call Anne, and my sister fills me in. Coco is still asleep, which doesn’t surprise me. My little girl has always had the habit of sleeping late into the morning and waking up at her own leisurely pace. Anne seems upbeat, too. My decision to keep her in the dark was the right one. But sooner rather than later, I will tell her about what really happened last night.

Meanwhile, Blake has already secured a rental car, deliberately avoiding a cab. “I prefer being the captain of my own ship,” he explains with a determined edge to his voice.

Considering the trouble that might be nipping at our heels, having him behind the wheel is reassuring. His readiness and capability undoubtedly make him a more dependable driver to navigate us through potential dangers than any cab driver could.

Instead of heading straight to my house, Blake takes a slow, deliberate loop around the block. His expression darkens, a mix of protectiveness and something deeper, something restless.

“Why aren’t we stopping?” I inquire, my curiosity sharpening as I notice his unusual behavior.

“There’s something I need to say,” he starts. “But if you need to be home now, I’ll turn around, and we can talk some other time.”

I glance at my watch. We landed a little early. “Go on.”

“About our flight.” He pauses, struggling to continue.

“You mean the kiss?” I cut in bluntly, reminding him that I’m still fuming. I’m not one to beat around the bush, and deep down, I want him to regret pulling away.

“I shouldn’t have let that happen. It was unprofessional and unfair to you. I got carried away.”

His admission stings far deeper than I anticipated. My heart plummets, the budding sprouts of hope brutally trimmed by his regret.

“Is that so?” My voice is colder than intended, a sharp contrast to my fuzzy feelings from hours before. “Then explain why.”

“I know what a kiss is.” His lips curl ever so slightly. “But let’s be honest, that was more than just a kiss.”

“So you felt something?” Hope peeks through in my murmur.

“It’s not something I’m ready to explore,” he replies, his tone as stiff as a university dean’s. “You need to forget it ever happened.”

A part of me wants to resist, to reclaim what was snatched away. But the more I yearn to fight, the more I feel like a child deprived of a cherished toy. It’s not just him who’s capable of setting boundaries. I’m mature enough to draw my own lines. “Fine! Please take me home, then.”

He keeps driving as he vigilantly scans the surroundings, perhaps patrolling the perimeter.

“Blake, are you married?” The question slips out, but it’s more than an unfiltered remark. I make sure he catches the accusation in my tone.

He slaps his hand against the steering wheel. “That’s not something you ask if you’re trying to forget what happened.”

“It’s a fair question.” I stand firm.

He stops the car, hands clenching as he shakes his head in determined denial. “Georgia-May, I’m not the cheating type, okay? I choose to make myself off-limits. Let’s be adults about this. We can move past things that shouldn’t have happened—for our own sake.”

I study him, noticing how he bristles, now the one appearing offended. As for me, I’m not merely offended, not just disappointed or frustrated. I’m gutted. “Does your job really mean more to you than anything else?” I ask.

He tilts his head, a flash of regret crossing his features. “I’m protecting you and your daughter. Of course my job takes precedence!”

“Thanks for treating us just like another job!”

“You know that’s not what I meant. I would give my life to you both in a heartbeat.”

“Why am I sensing it won’t be the first time you said that to someone you’re protecting?” I probe, pushing him further.

“Please, Georgia-May, stop trying to read me,” he snaps.

“We kissed, Blake. The truth is, I can’t just forget about it.”

“If you can’t stop acting like a brokenhearted sixteen-year-old, we’ll need to reconsider our arrangement. So, do you want to continue with me?”

“You’re such a child!”

“Do you want to continue with me?”

For Coco’s sake, I have no choice but to give him a curt ‘yes.’

The silence stretches between us as he merges back onto the street.

“Where are we going?” I ask as we drive further from Anne’s house.

“Just scouting around,” Blake answers, his gaze intense as he scans the area. “Where do you think my guy is, the one keeping an eye on Anne and Coco?”

I peer out the window, eyeing a few passersby—a woman pushing a stroller, a man walking his dog, a teenager on a skateboard. “I have no idea,” I admit, shaking my head in bafflement.

“I’ll make it easier for you.” Blake smirks as he pulls out his phone and dials. He’s on the line for a few minutes, speaking in that low, authoritative tone. Despite my best efforts, I still can’t pinpoint who it might be.

Then, just as we’re about to complete another circuit around the block, Blake nods toward a jogger with earbuds, who has been trailing behind us. “There he is,” Blake declares, a trace of pride coloring his voice. “Meet Ryker.”

I watch the jogger, realizing he has been with us the entire time, seamlessly blending into the environment. It’s clear Blake was serious when he said no one would notice our surveillance.

He relays what Ryker reported over the phone. As he ends the call, he turns to me, his demeanor shifting from confident to grave. “There was a burglary at your Denver apartment last night,” he informs me, his voice steady yet tinged with concern.

A dark heat floods my chest. “What did they take?”

“The police were there, trying to reach you,” he continues, “but they couldn’t get through since your phone was…well, smashed.”

I recall that moment vividly. “What about Anne and Coco? Are they safe?”

“Yes, they’re fine,” Blake reassures me. “Ryker stayed on to guard them. He wasn’t swayed by the distraction. But that means we still don’t have the full picture of the situation at your apartment.”

“Is that why we’re driving around the block?”

“Well, I only just found out about the burglary, but yes, I needed to be sure we weren’t being followed. Your sister’s place seems to have stayed off the radar, and we want to keep it that way.”

Drawing in a deep breath, my need for certainty persists. “So, no one suspicious or threatening nearby?”

“Nope. It’s been quiet here. But we should check in with the police before they start searching for you like a missing person.”

Though it’s comforting to know Anne and Coco are out of harm’s way, the mention of the police ignites a new surge of anxiety within me. I can’t help fidgeting.

Blake’s hand finds its way to my shoulder. How does one remain professional around such a man? Protective, attentive, and utterly infuriating. Oh, how I regret ever having tasted his lips!

“Hey, don’t worry,” he murmurs, his voice calm. Clearly, he’s a master at maintaining boundaries, behaving as if our kiss had never happened. “My guy is heading to your apartment now to check things out, see what the police have uncovered. Did you leave anything important there?”

“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “Sometimes I used my laptop when I was there, but I always take it with me. And then there’s the phone you destroyed last night. Aside from that, it was just magazines, textbooks, and food.”

His eyes search mine, looking for any hint of doubt. “Good,” he says, satisfied. “Nothing that will tie that place to your sister’s place?”

“No,” I confirm, feeling a bit more secure.

“When you speak with the police, just frame it as a simple burglary. You cashed your Hartley’s check, didn’t you?”

“Yes, at my regular bank. A branch close to the apartment. That was just before Coco’s surgery.”

“Perfect,” he exclaims, although by the look on his face, I bet he already knew that. “We can suggest that someone saw you with a bundle of cash and figured they’d strike it lucky by breaking into your place.”

My anxiety flares up. “Okay. But as you know, I’m not good at lying.”

“Georgia-May, you won’t have to be,” he assures me, his voice steady and convincing. “You only need to tell the police what you’ve just told me. Trust me, they’ve probably already drawn that conclusion on their own. Let’s just hope the culprits were professionals, which I suspect they were, if Bertram hired them. They would’ve left no trace to lead back to them. The case will likely go unsolved and get buried among countless others.”

“I suppose you can’t drive me there,” I murmur, my mind swirling with worry about facing the police station alone. A single day has shifted everything. Now, the thought of being without him makes me feel dangerously exposed.

“Even if I don’t drive you there, it doesn’t mean I’m not with you.”

“Okay.” I feel marginally better. “Now what?”

Blake straightens, his posture assertive, his gaze all business. Any trace of what happened during the flight seems to have vanished from his mind. “I’ll drive you home,” he declares. “Take your time to see Coco. Wait for my guy to come back from Denver, then, when you feel ready, head to the police station.”

“Okay,” I say, already plotting my next steps.

He adds, “Then I’ll need to stay with you, at least until we know where our enemy is.”

His proposal sends a jolt of nervous energy through me. Coco’s safety looms paramount, compelling me to accept his offer despite the complications it weaves into our relationship. If I can call it that.

“Fine. You can take the couch,” I assert, showing off that I, too, am capable of keeping things professional. Though just barely.