38. Savannah
38
Savannah
“Stop fidgeting,” Aubrey whispers as she passes me, her champagne-colored maternity gown flowing like liquid gold. “And remember, you look fabulous.”
The grand ballroom is dripping with elegance. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light over tables draped in pristine white linen. Waiters in sharp black uniforms glide through the room, balancing trays of champagne flutes.
It’s a scene of total, gorgeous opulence, the Bills for Blades and Boots Gala drawing the wealthiest and most influential from Cedar Creek, Chicago, and Minneapolis. Diamonds flash as women turn their heads, and tuxedos gleam under the soft lighting. The hum of conversation fills the space.
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter under my breath, adjusting the strap of my emerald-green gown for the third time. It’s a stunning dress, clinging in all the right places, but right now, I feel like an imposter playing dress-up.
Blaze’s voice cuts through my spiral of nerves. “You’re fine, Sav. Stop messing with the strap before you unravel the whole thing.”
I turn to glare at him, but the smirk on his face is annoyingly infectious. He’s leaning casually against a nearby pillar, his dark blue suit tailored to perfection. The man looks like he was born to wear designer.
“Shouldn’t you be off charming the crowd or signing autographs?”
He pushes off the pillar and saunters closer. “Why would I do that when I can charm you instead?”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the small laugh that escapes. “Oh, please.”
“You’re killing it already, Hart. Just go up there and show them who’s boss.”
“You make it sound so simple,” I shoot back, trying to ignore the way his warm breath against my ear sends a shiver down my spine.
“Because it is,” he says with a grin. “You’ve got this.”
Before I can reply, the soft chime of a bell signals it’s time for speeches. My heart stutters. Aubrey catches my eye from across the room and gives me a small nod of encouragement, her hand resting on her bump. Jack Ice, surrounded by senators and local dignitaries, tips his head toward me in quiet approval.
Blaze steps back but not before saying, “Showtime, superstar.”
I square my shoulders, inhaling deeply as I make my way to the stage. My heels click against the polished floor, each step echoing like a countdown. The room hushes as I reach the podium, and every eye turns to me. My fingers tighten on the microphone as I smile, forcing my nerves into submission.
Then, I begin.
“Good evening. Thank you all for joining us tonight at the Bills for Blades and Boots Gala . Your generosity makes events like this possible, and it’s because of you that our little charity continues to thrive.”
I pause, scanning the room. My gaze zeroes in on Blaze, standing near the back. He gives me the tiniest nod, his expression calm and focused, and suddenly I feel like I can do this.
The tension in my shoulders eases.
Clearing my throat, I launch into a few short stories about the festival’s impact: kids who discovered hockey and lit up the ice for the first time, families who found a safe haven in Cedar Creek when they needed it most, and the community projects funded by last year’s record-breaking success.
I let my own enthusiasm seep into my words, because these aren’t just numbers and statistics—they’re real people, real moments. I want everyone here to feel that same spark I do.
“And tonight,” I continue, my voice growing steadier, “we’re asking for your continued support, not just for the festival, but for the future of Cedar Creek. Because frankly, I’m a big fan of this town.”
A ripple of laughter travels through the crowd, and I offer a quick, wry smile.
“Together, we can ensure it’s a place where dreams are born, nurtured, and celebrated. Where people feel they belong—whether they’ve lived here their whole lives or just arrived yesterday.”
I let the last words hang, letting the meaning sink in. Then I flash a confident grin—Aubrey’s always told me I have a great one, might as well use it.
“Thank you for believing in what we do. Now, please, enjoy the rest of the night, and don’t be shy with those donations. We’ve got plenty of big dreams still to fulfill.”
Applause erupts as I step down, my cheeks warming at the enthusiastic response. Blaze meets me at the edge of the stage, a champagne flute in hand.
“Told you,” he says.
I arch a brow, taking the glass from him. “Told me what? That I wouldn’t trip over my own feet?”
“No,” he says, leaning closer. “That you’d own the room. Like I said, you’re a star.”
I sip the champagne, trying to hide the flutter his words send through me. “Careful, Blaze. Keep this up, and people might start to think you’re nice.”
He smirks, brushing a strand of hair off my shoulder. “We can’t have that, now can we?”
“And here I thought you didn’t care what people thought.”
“Only when it comes to you,” he says, his tone light but his eyes serious.
Before I can respond, Aubrey appears at my side, grinning. “You were amazing up there, Sav. Truly.”
“Thanks to your pep talk,” I reply.
As the band shifts to a sultry rhythm, Blaze extends his hand, his voice low and commanding.
“Dance with me.”
I hesitate, glancing around the room filled with glittering gowns and polished smiles. “Here? Now?”
“Sav, we’re at a ball. Of course here. Of course now.”
I slip my hand into his. His fingers close around mine, warm and sure, and he leads me to the dance floor like he owns it. The music washes over us, the sensual beat of bachata wrapping us in its rhythm.
“Bachata?” I say with a nervous laugh as his hips guide mine effortlessly. “I don’t know how to bachata.”
"Sure you don’t," he murmurs, his voice thick with teasing warmth, his lips close enough to brush my ear. His fingers press against my back, steadying me as I falter slightly. "But who knows? You might find you’re a natural. And you know what they say—great dancers are great in bed. If it works the other way around, you’ll do just fine."
I arch a brow at him, my lips curving into a sly smile. "And you’re talking about me, not yourself, right? Show-off."
His smirk deepens, his tone dripping with heat. "Maybe. Or maybe I’m just predicting we’ll dance perfectly together.”
“Wait.” I narrow my eyes at him, trying to focus on the steps and not the way his thigh brushes against mine with every movement. “How do you even know how to bachata?”
He grins, casual as ever. “Picked it up in the Dominican Republic.”
Of course he did. “Next time,” he adds, his lips brushing close to my ear, “I’ll take you.”
Next time. As if he can already see me in his future, dancing under the stars with him in some faraway paradise. The thought sends my heart racing, and I look up at him, trying to find an anchor in his gaze.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I lie, though the truth is written all over my face. What am I doing here, letting him sweep me off my feet—literally—when I’ve always been the one keeping both firmly planted on the ground? Blaze is everything I’m not: bold, fearless, completely unafraid to take risks.
“Just follow me,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’ve got you.”
I swallow hard and nod, his words wrapping around me like a promise. His hand rests firmly on the small of my back, his other hand clasping mine. The sultry rhythm of the bachata music—a song I vaguely recognize as Romeo Santos’ Indecent Proposal —fills the room, its beat slow and sensual, demanding intimacy with every step.
Blaze steps forward, his hand sliding to the curve of my waist, lightly pressing to guide me as I step back.
His movements are deliberate, confident, as though he’s danced this way a thousand times. When his hips sway to the beat, he grips my waist with both hands, his fingers splaying against my sides. The connection is electric, and he uses it to pull me closer, moving my hips with his. The side-to-side motion is fluid, hypnotic, and before I realize it, I’m mirroring him perfectly, our bodies swaying as one.
His thigh nudges between mine, parting my legs slightly as he steps closer, his knee brushing the inside of my right thigh. The sensation is deliberate, intimate, yet somehow seamless with the rhythm of the dance. My breath hitches as his leg stays there, pressing gently, keeping our bodies close as he moves.
It’s hard to focus when his dark eyes are locked on mine, filled with a heat that makes my knees weak.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his lips brushing close to my ear. “Let me lead.”
I force myself to loosen my body, to stop resisting the pull of him. Every shift of his weight presses against me in new, tantalizing ways, the friction of his pants against my dress a constant reminder of how close we are.
With a slight dip of his torso, Blaze pulls me closer, the curve of my hips aligning with his. The hand on my back shifts lower, settling just above the curve of my ass, and his fingers splay wide, anchoring me to him.
The sway of his hips is mesmerizing, a controlled roll that radiates confidence and raw sensuality. He steps to the left, and I follow, our feet brushing as we glide across the floor. When he steps forward again, his thigh nudges firmly against me, pushing me back just enough to keep the rhythm but not enough to break the connection.
“You’re doing better than you think,” he murmurs, his voice thick with teasing warmth.
I let out a shaky laugh. “That’s only because you’re practically carrying me through this.”
“Not true,” he counters, spinning me out. My body turns effortlessly under his hand, the skirt of my dress flaring as he leads me into the move. Before I can catch my breath, he pulls me back in, and I collide against his chest, his arm tightening around my waist.
The move is seamless, but the closeness afterward is what leaves me breathless. His lips find my ear, his voice dipping into a lower, more intimate tone. “You’re incredible, Savannah.”
The way he says my name sends a shiver through me, and I tilt my head slightly to meet his gaze. His hand slides up my back again, guiding me into another step. This time, as he presses forward, his hips graze mine in a way that’s maddeningly slow, like he’s savoring every second of our closeness.
“Blaze…” I whisper, his name escaping me as more of a plea than anything else.
“ ?Te gusta cómo se siente esto? ” he murmurs, the Spanish rolling off his tongue with a richness that makes me tremble.
I shiver, my breath catching. “What did you say?”
His lips curve into a wicked smile. “Do you like how this feels?”
“Yes,” I admit, my voice trembling, the single word spilling out before I can think to stop it. “I love it.”
His grin deepens, and he leans closer, his breath warm against my temple. “You’ve got no idea how beautiful you look right now, moving like this with me.”
Blaze keeps the rhythm steady, his leg still between mine, creating a subtle friction with every shift of our bodies. His hand dips lower on my back, brushing over the curve of my hips, as he takes a small step forward, his chest brushing mine. The heat between us is palpable, the music fueling the tension as we sway together.
The room fades entirely, the glittering gowns and polished suits of the gala becoming nothing more than background noise. All that exists is the music, the pulse of his body against mine, and the whispered words that make my knees weak.
“Keep talking,” I whisper, surprising myself with the request. “In Spanish.”
His laughter is soft, sinful, as he leans down to brush his lips over my ear again. “ Eres mi tentación favorita ,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.
“What does that mean?” I ask, breathless.
“You’re my favorite temptation,” he says, his dark eyes burning into mine.
The final notes of the song linger in the air, but Blaze doesn’t pull away. Instead, he keeps me close, his hand firm on my back, his thumb brushing idly over the fabric of my dress. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine, the slight stubble on his jaw brushing my temple.
“One day,” he says softly, his lips brushing my temple. “We’ll dance like this somewhere where we don’t have to stop.”
The words send a shiver through me, a promise laced with heat and something deeper. For now, I let him hold me, the rest of the world forgotten as I lose myself in the memory of our dance and the anticipation of everything still to come.
***
Hand in hand, we weave our way through the crowd, the lingering heat of the dance still thrumming between us. When we reach our table, Blaze pulls out my chair with effortless grace. He waits until I’m seated before leaning in close, his voice low and teasing. “Not bad, Hart,” he says, that cocky grin playing on his lips. “For a newbie.”
I roll my eyes,“Well, you didn’t let me fall, so I guess that’s a win.”
“Didn’t plan to.” His fingers linger at my waist, his thumb brushing a small circle against the fabric of my gown. “I never will.”
I should pull away, crack a joke, do something to lighten the mood, but I can’t seem to find the will. Instead, I meet his gaze, feeling something shift inside me. Something I’m not sure I can take back.
“Blaze…”
“Relax, Sav. I’m just saying, you’re in good hands.”
“Yeah,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m starting to see that.”
The music has faded completely, leaving only the hum of chatter in the air as I catch sight of Sean entering the room.
My stomach twists when I see who’s trailing behind him—Brody.
Shit .
Shit . Shit . Shit .
Brody’s smug smirk and overconfident swagger turn my blood cold.
I freeze for a moment, but Blaze’s hand on my waist grounds me. His fingers press reassuringly, steady as a rock, even though I can feel the tension radiating off him.
“Stay calm. We’ve got this.”
“What? We’ve got this? How can you—“
Before I can finish, Brody strides right toward us, his smirk widening as his eyes rake over me.
“Savannah,” he says, loud enough to draw attention. “You look absolutely hot as hell tonight.”
My nails dig into Blaze’s arm as my instincts scream to step back, but I don’t. He doesn’t get to see me flinch.
“What are you doing here?”
Brody grins wider, shrugging as if this is all perfectly normal.
“I’m a guest of my buddy Sean here.” He gestures lazily at Sean, who’s hanging back by the bar with a drink in hand, looking entirely unbothered.
Sean brought him? What the hell is going on?
“Brody, bud,” Blaze says. “Glad you could make an appearance. But—“ He looks up over my shoulder, spotting something happening. “Anyway, some other guests are on their way.”
Before Brody can respond, the ballroom doors swing open, and the sharp click of boots against marble echoes through the room.
Two uniformed police officers stride in, their presence turning every head in the room. Conversations die instantly, replaced by murmurs and gasps.
The officers approach us, coming to a stop just a few feet away.
“Blaze,” I say. “What… what the hell?”
“Mr. Langstone,” one officer announces, his tone authoritative, “you’re in violation of a restraining order filed against you.”
Brody freezes mid-step, his smirk vanishing as his gaze darts wildly between Blaze, Sean, and me.
“What is this?” he demands, his voice rising. “What protective order? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I glance toward Emma, who’s standing by the dessert table, and she winks at me, her tech wizardry clearly part of this masterful timing. My lips twitch despite the situation.
Blaze steps forward, his body cutting between Brody and me like a shield. His tone is calm but ice-cold.
“It’s called consequences, Brody. You thought you could keep pushing, but the law says otherwise. And so do we.”
Brody splutters, his arrogance faltering. “This is bullshit! I was invited here. Sean’s my—”
Sean strolls over, his expression one of mild amusement as he pulls his phone from his pocket.
“Buddy?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not quite.”
With a tap of his finger, Brody’s voice echoes from Sean's phone’s speaker, his own damning words filling the now-silent ballroom.
"Just a couple broken bones—nothing she didn't deserve."
My stomach churns hearing Brody’s voice, his vile arrogance now laid bare for everyone in the room. Gasps ripple through the crowd, and I can feel the heat of the cameras as reporters swarm closer, their flashes filling the air.
“You set me up!” Brody yells, lunging toward Sean, but the officers are already moving. They grab him and cuff his wrists with practiced efficiency, one officer reciting his rights as Brody struggles and curses.
Blaze raises his voice over the commotion, his tone cold and commanding.
“Payback time, ‘buddy,’” Blaze says, stepping closer. His voice drops low, meant for Brody and those nearest. “Our lawyer is representing all the women you’ve hurt. You’ll have a chance to stop the lawsuit and save what’s left of your career—with a generous settlement. And by generous, I mean really generous. You’ll be hearing from him soon.” Then, he leans in just enough for Brody to catch the icy fire in his eyes. “And let me make one thing crystal clear—come near Savannah, or any of those women, and your career, your reputation, and everything you’ve built will be over. Do you understand me?”
Brody glares, his bravado slipping into desperation as the officers lead him toward the exit. “You’ll regret this, Ice,” he spits, his voice venomous. “You and your whole family.”
Sean smirks, raising his glass as Brody is dragged away. “Yeah. Good luck with that, bud.”
Reporters swarm, cameras flashing and questions flying. Blaze’s arm tightens around me protectively. I glance up at him, my heart pounding, but his expression is calm, controlled, like he’s already two steps ahead.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and meant only for me.
I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Just… glad it’s over.”
“It’s over,” Blaze confirms, his gaze steady on mine. “He’s done.”
Emma strolls up, a mischievous grin on her face as she nudges my shoulder. “You’re welcome,” she says casually. “Delaying his notification was genius, right?”
I let out a shaky laugh, the tension in my chest loosening just enough to let gratitude flood in. “You’re a lifesaver, Em. Literally.”
She winks. “What can I say? Tech magic at its finest.”
Blaze leans down. “Come on. Let’s get you some air.”
I nod, letting him guide me toward the terrace as the ballroom buzzes behind us, the weight of Brody’s presence finally lifting. Outside, the cool night air feels like a balm against my heated skin. I inhale deeply, leaning against the stone railing as Blaze steps beside me.
“You did good,” he says.
“You weren’t so bad yourself, Ice.”
His grin is slow, and entirely too distracting. “Always aiming to impress.”
For the first time in weeks, I feel like I can finally breathe again. And it’s all because of him.
“Really, though,” Blaze says quietly, “you OK?”
I meet his gaze, my chest still tight from the whirlwind of adrenaline. “I think so. I mean, I’m relieved. And I’m glad it’s over.” My eyes flick to the ballroom doors, where the echoes of music still float through. “But wow.”
He huffs a soft laugh, brushing a stray curl away from my forehead. “Yeah. ‘Wow’ sums it up.”
I lean into his touch. “Guess we can enjoy the rest of the night now.”
His grin turns roguish, and he slips an arm around my waist. “You know, there’s still time for a dance or two.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You can’t get enough of me, can you?”
Blaze leans in, the warmth of his breath skating over my cheek.
“You’re goddamn right.”