Embrace Me Forever (Hartley Brothers #3)

18. Georgia-May

18

GEORGIA-MAY

At the end of that, Blake closes his eyes, his fingers still curled around Coco’s pram handle. He stoops to check on my little girl, ensuring she’s snug and safe. Satisfied, he murmurs, a whisper lost in the chill of the air, “It’s ironic, isn’t it? I saved the senator’s wife and lost mine on the same day.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Blake. I mean it,” I say, placing my hand atop his. Between us, Coco’s stroller stands not as a barrier but as a bridge connecting our shared sorrows and solaces. Despite the pain etched in his gaze, Blake remains composed.

“I know you don’t like me to say sorry,” I add, acknowledging that I haven’t forgotten his wish for no apologies.

He shakes his head, not in denial but in acceptance of the complicated layers of our reality. His voice lacks enthusiasm as he says, “A revenge gone wrong paid with rightful revenge. Everything was too late. But my only comfort is that the case was closed without any question. Dean Crawley is still with the Anchorage PD. A captain now.”

I respond with a subtle tilt of my head, relieved, aligning silently with Crawley’s choices. In this twisted web of justice and revenge, I would have done the same for a friend, understanding too well the blurred lines between right and wrong in our shadows.

Then he confesses, his voice a harsh whisper, “At the end of the day, I’m a cold-blooded killer who lost the woman I loved—not just to the bullet that ended her life, but to another man she chose in her final moments. It’s a regret that keeps haunting me.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Please, Georgia-May, stop apologizing,” he says, desperation coloring his tone.

I hold my breath, the density of his pain pressing between us. “I just can’t bear to see you punish yourself for things beyond your control.”

“Flo having an affair was on me, and her taking a bullet for me…that was more than my fault. It was a grave error in judgment she paid for with her life. Maybe somehow, she knew. Women have this inexplicable intuition, don’t they? She begged me not to fly to California. And I ignored her.”

“I wasn’t there with you and Flo. I can’t pass judgment, but I have my convictions. She chose to be with your neighbor, to spend that night with him while you were away. You can’t shoulder her choices.”

“You don’t need to defend me, Georgia-May.”

“Oh, but I do. Because it’s clear you can’t protect yourself from your own demons!” I retort, my voice fierce with resolve.

He looks at me, his gaze cutting as he shakes his head slightly, his free hand reaching out to brush my chin. The brief touch whispers a chill through my veins, the sensation lingering far longer than the contact. “What do I do with you, Georgia-May?”

Perhaps he’s unaccustomed to someone as forthright as I am. For those I cherish, I don’t mince words. “I’m being honest with you, Blake. It’s just me. Is this why you think we can never be? Because you fear I might betray you? Or are you terrified that I’ll meet the same fate as her?”

“If I’m being completely honest, both. Those fears have crossed my mind, and I don’t believe I’m worthy of someone like you,” he admits, his voice soft yet fraught with tension.

Now, he’s meeting my openness with his own. I appreciate his honesty, but it ignites something fierce within me. “Blake, everyone meets their end one day. And for the record, in my twenty-six years, I’ve only ever loved one man—Coco’s father. He died before he could even meet her. Don’t dare question my loyalty. You managed to move past your wife’s betrayal, yet you stall at the threshold of our happiness? It’s clear she didn’t deserve your devotion, Blake.”

He draws me close as if I might break. “Georgia-May, you are a magnificent, brilliant woman. But my heart—it’s like a heavy beast, asleep yet somehow still painfully aware. Since Flo’s death, I’ve been numb, lost to any feeling. It’s as if that beast opened one eye, glanced at the world, and whispered, ‘I can’t,’ before returning to its terrible slumber. Until you.” His voice lowers, vulnerable yet earnest. “Now, the question remains, Georgia-May, do you still want this beast?”

But then, the sharp ring of his phone cuts through our moment. Blake’s expression darkens immediately. “Come on, we’ve got to go!” He pushes me to hurry.

He scoops Coco from the stroller, cradling her with a tenderness that belies his sudden haste. With ease, he folds the stroller and slings it over his other shoulder as I scramble to keep up.

We rush back to our car, breathless with anticipation, as Blake flicks his phone to speaker mode. Ryker’s voice fills the space, tense and alert, “Someone’s been lurking around the neighborhood where Georgia-May’s sister lives. Can’t pinpoint if they know the exact house yet, but we need to stay sharp.”

Blake assists me in securing Coco into her car seat, his movements quick yet careful. The line with Ryker is still buzzing in the background. Suddenly, Blake cuts in, “Ryker, pull out now and head to—” He then turns to me. “Where does your sister’s ex live?”

I share the address.

“Guard Anne and her boyfriend,” Blake orders firmly. “We’re not going back to that house.”

While I remain by Coco’s side in the back seat, Blake ignites the engine, and the car lurches forward. He drives with controlled haste, skillfully fast enough to evade danger but gentle enough not to wake Coco, who is miraculously still ensconced in sleep.

He quickly makes another call, this time to Clayton.

“Blake, what are we going to do?” I ask after he ends the call.

“We’ll fly to L.A. and stay at my place,” he states firmly. “Whatever Coco needs, I’ll make sure it’s arranged.”

“Okay. But we’ve got to stop by our house first. Coco needs her medications,” I plead, worried as I recall they’re running low. But that’s something to deal with another day. “Also, her toys, the ones she simply can’t be without.”

In the mirror, I catch a glimpse of Blake’s empathetic gaze as he agrees to head back home. It’s a testament to how deeply he cares for Coco, always putting my little girl first.

He gives me a heads-up on what to expect. “It’ll be quick and safe, just in and out.”

As we step back into the house, apprehension hits me. For the first time, I see Blake with a gun in his hand, his movements calculated and protective. He wraps an arm around me, his body a shield as he scans the room with vigilant eyes, a full three-sixty-degree sweep ensuring our safety.

Suddenly, the quiet is shattered by the front door bursting open. A man in a balaclava storms in, gun raised. Blake’s voice cuts sharply through the chaos, “Take Coco to your room, now!”

As I hurry away, the sound of a scuffle erupts behind me, and Coco stirs in my arms. Desperate to shield her from the terror, I turn on her favorite show on the iPad, the volume up to mask the noise.

With my back pressed against the bedroom door, my body shakes as I listen to the scuffle beyond. A thud resonates through the floorboards. Someone has fallen, but who? Tension coils tighter within me until I hear Blake’s fierce declaration from the hallway, “Tell your boss, he touches her, he dies!” The certainty in his voice brings a surge of both relief and dread.

Then I hear footsteps. “Georgia-May, it’s me,” Blake’s strained voice comes from the other side of the door.

I unlock it quickly. “Are you okay?” I tremble, suppressing the fear and relief swirling inside me.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Peering out into the hallway, I see the intruder sprawled limply across the floor. “Is he dead?” I whisper, my heart still racing.

“No. He needs to deliver a message to Abner Bertram,” Blake replies, his tone cold with resolve.

The need to cling to him and release all the pent-up tension wells up inside me. But there’s no time for that. I hastily gather Coco’s things, my movements frantic.

“Just grab the essentials,” Blake instructs firmly. “We’ll get you clothes and everything else once we’re in L.A.”

I finish packing in a flash. As soon as I’m done, Blake is there to take the burden from me. Almost effortlessly, the bag is hung on his massive shoulder. He doesn’t stop there. “Let me take Coco,” he offers without hesitation.

I don’t pause to consider, trusting him implicitly. Coco settles into his arms with a serene calmness that only Blake can command. His accommodating demeanor, coupled with the affection he shows Coco—treating her as preciously as if she were his own child—only deepens the burgeoning feelings I harbor for him. He deftly shields her from the chaos, ensuring she sees nothing of the disorder as we pass the hallway.

I observe the unconscious intruder as I pass him by. It’s not the hooded man. He’s way too bulky to be him. Then again, I recognize him. He was the one holding me under the ice bath at that L.A. motel!

“Stay close to me!” Blake’s tone brooks no argument. Despite his arms being full, he manages to position himself to also protect me. I cling to his muscular arm, drawing comfort and courage from his unyielding strength. His presence is a fortress in motion, his side pressed against mine, ensuring I am as shielded as our little one until we’re back inside the car.

Blake continues his vigilance, looking left and right, front and back, through the mirror. “One got away. He didn’t even dare meet me. He just fled.”

“The hooded man?”

“No. He was way taller.”

Then we’re speeding toward Denver airport, so fast that I only realize we’ve bypassed the main terminal when it’s too late. We finally stop at another building, following a discreet, almost secretive path that leads to a private hangar. After a while, as we sip cold drinks and nibble on fresh fruit, a sleek, posh-looking plane bearing the ‘Hartley Marine’ insignia glides into view.

“It’s good to know people in high places,” Blake quips, a wry smile playing on his lips as we prepare to step into a world far removed from ordinary concerns.

Just like that, we leave Denver behind, the cityscape shrinking until it’s nothing more than a memory. I can hardly believe this is real. The interior of the plane is a blend of opulence and modern tech, with plush leather seats that recline into fully flat beds, polished wood panels, and ambient lighting that casts a soothing glow. It’s more akin to a floating luxury hotel than any aircraft I’ve ever seen.

Wyatt, the affable pilot and Rob’s former military comrade, smoothly announces that we can unfasten our seatbelts. His presence at the airport was striking. Dressed sharply in his Hartley Marine uniform, Wyatt exudes confidence and discipline. Likely in his sixties, his posture brings to mind those elite pilots chosen for airline commercials.

Blake gets up and unfolds a crib next to our seats. “Why don’t you settle Coco here?” he suggests.

“There’s a crib, too?” I marvel, my voice tinged with astonishment.

“Well, between Rob and Clay, they have five children. Apart from Clay’s adopted son, who’s now twelve, the others have been on the move since they were a week old,” Blake explains.

Turning to Coco, I ask, “Are you hungry, sweetie?” She nods, her eyes bright. “Good girl. You need to eat before taking your meds, right?” I can tell she’s starting to feel uncomfortable, perhaps as the effects of the painkiller begin to wane.

The flight attendant, ever friendly and observant, comes over with a smile. “May I recommend these?” She holds up two colorful containers. “Mrs. Hartley specifically arranged this special catering for Coco. She mentioned these are perfect for young toddlers, especially those recovering from surgery.”

I give Blake a quizzical look.

“It’s from Isabelle, Clay’s wife. She’s a pediatrician and a kids’ nutrition expert. She started her own line of baby and toddler foods last year,” Blake clarifies.

I take the containers, which are decorated with cartoon fruits and vegetables that seem to dance around the labels.

“Mooom!” Coco chimes in, stretching her arms out, eager to see them.

“That sounds perfect,” I reply, grateful for the thoughtfulness. “Look, Coco, a special treat just for you.”

Coco dives into the food with gusto, clearly enjoying the flavors tailored for young palates. She finishes every bite, a rare feat these days, then takes her medication without fuss. But soon after, she starts to whimper, the discomfort perhaps creeping back.

“You’re tired, I know,” I say, holding her close.

“Mom…” she sobs, gesturing toward her bag.

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 in frost 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.

He leans closer, the distance between us diminishing with each breath. With deliberate tenderness, his fingers trace the contours of my face. I remember the rough patch on his palm from our first handshake. Now, that very imperfection sweeps over my skin, delivering a paradoxically perfect caress, treating me as something both precious and fragile.

Then he slants his mouth over mine. Our lips meet, a searching kiss, like the first few notes of a long-forgotten melody.

“I want you. You’re not a beast, Blake. You’re just a man with a vast heart,” I murmur as our lips graze one another’s. “And you’re not lost because you’ve found me.”

In a surge of resolve, he rises from his seat, crossing the divide that had separated us. The generous space of our private seating allows him to kneel before me. As he draws closer, the kiss intensifies, his hands weaving through my hair, pulling me into the moment with him. I clasp his strong forearms, driven by a need to absorb some of the silent suffering he has endured. While I cannot undo his past pain, my touch conveys my unwavering support.

He gently presses me back into my seat, his body a comforting presence blanketing mine. As his lips meld more firmly with my own, reality slips away. Words, feelings, strains, desires—they evaporate, replaced by an intense awareness of only him. It’s as if he has pulled me into an altered dimension. I’ve never felt so breathless yet so alive.

“No regrets?” I murmur.

“None whatsoever,” he answers, his statement serious while oozing sexy resonance.

Leaning forward, I capture his lips in a brief kiss intended to affirm the moment and our irreversible course.

As I begin to pull back, Blake’s lips cling to mine, making our parting feel like a slothful, reluctant separation. Then, when I think it’s all done, with a deliberate flick, his tongue grazes my lower lip. A bold yet ephemeral touch. My teeth instinctively catch the spot he just caressed, and his smirk widens. Was he hinting at what he’s willing to offer? Or was it a provocation? His sly grin tells me it’s both.

He composes himself and returns to his seat, leaving me tingling from the kiss.

Clearing his throat, he says, “We still have an hour or so. Feel free to catch some sleep.”

I shoot him a glare, knowing he’s parroting the words I used in our last flight. Right after he’d rebuffed my advance. The irony isn’t lost on me. His earlier insistence on ‘staying professional’ now feels quaint and completely irrelevant.

“Yeah, because nothing says ‘sweet dreams’ like a mind-blowing kiss, right?” I retort, a playful smirk dancing on my lips as I acknowledge the sweet triumph of our interactions.

“You think that was mind-blowing?” he challenges, an impish glint in his eye.

I frown. “What are you suggesting?”

“Wait until I really kiss you, Georgia-May!” His words roll out so easily, yet they’re a live wire.

A sudden wave of heat surges through me, pooling in a rather inconvenient location. Oh boy, it must be the hint of that tongue action. Yeah, that’s got to be it! If it weren’t for Captain Wyatt’s impeccably timed announcement about our imminent landing, who knows what sort of lines we’d be crossing right now?