Chapter Six

Georgia

"So this is how the one percent lives," I say, prowling around Blaze's home in avid curiosity. Everything is expensive, from the ebony floors to the crystal chandeliers overhead to the gorgeous antique furniture. His mansion sprawls along the side of a hill in Calabasas, not far from rockstar Saint Greenway, whose little sister attends college with me. Savannah lives in the same dorm building. I like her a lot. I like Blaze's house too.

It's so beautiful. I expected a fancy bachelor pad, to be honest. But this place is a real home. There are family photos on the mantle, and crystal vases on end tables. It's obvious he takes great care of the place.

"It was my mom's dream home," he says, watching me from across the room. He's sprawled across the sofa, his arms thrown over the back. He looks…satisfied in a way he never has before now. And I don't think it's the orgasm in the limo that did it. I think it's this, me in his space, looking through his things. "Alaric and I had them break ground the day she made her first billion."

"Really?"

He nods.

"That's really sweet, Blaze." I love that so much. My heart flutters.

"You know, when you marry me, you'll be part of the one percent too," he says.

"Marry you?" My mouth pops open. Is this what it feels like to be swept off your feet? If so, it's a little wild. I'm still reeling from the orgasms, now he's talking about marriage?

I want that. God, I want it so bad! But he didn't even ask me. And he didn't say he loves me. When we get married in my head, it's because he loves me as much as I do him. The possibility that he doesn't feel that way…hurts.

"Blaze."

His withering glare roots my feet in place. "If you even think about saying whatever you're about to say, I will spank you," he warns me, that voice a wicked growl of sound. He really shouldn't use it if he wants me to behave. Because as soon as he does, I want to do the exact opposite of whatever he said.

I pause and lick my lips, not entirely sure I want to tempt the beast this time. "I realize billionaires get married for crazy reasons all the time," I say, choosing my words carefully. "But I always imagined when I did it, it would be with a man who loves me as much as I love him."

His gaze cracks like a whip when it lands on my face. For a split second, he doesn't even breathe. "You think I'd marry for some other reason, Georgia?"

"I…" I shrug helplessly.

"You think I brought you here to fuck, little one?"

"I don't know!" I cry, pressing my hands to my cheeks. My stomach roils with uncertainty. "Until today, I didn't even think I stood a chance with you. And then I find out you want the same things I want, things I thought made me bad. Now, here we are. And you're talking about marriage, and…and…" I trail off, waving one hand around like a crazy person.

His cocoa eyes light up with understanding. "You're overwhelmed."

"Very," I whisper.

He rises to his feet, far too gracefully for someone his size, and strides toward me. I watch him in awe like always. He's so damn beautiful to me, sexy in ways that make my knees weak. Looking at him, I know he could crush me with one hand if he wanted to do it. But I also know just how gentle those hands can be when they're on my body or testing fabrics between his blunt fingers. He's a walking contradiction, the man who has everything but wants me.

When he reaches me, he sweeps me into his arms without a word.

I don't complain. The only place I want to be right now is in his arms. In them, the way I feel about him doesn't feel overwhelming. It feels exactly right. No, it feels better than that. In his arms, the way I feel about him, the things I want from him, aren't wrong. They aren't seedy or wicked. They're beautiful.

He carries me up the stairs, his boots heavy on the steps.

I'm too busy looking at him to look at the rest of the house, but the lack of Christmas decorations is obvious. "You didn't decorate for Christmas."

"Didn't plan on celebrating," he mutters.

"Why not?"

His cocoa eyes drop to mine, his expression somber. "Christmas felt like a fucking blade this year," he says, his chest rumbling against my side.

"Oh. Why?"

"Your final shoot is three days after Christmas. Seemed more like the end of my world than a reason to celebrate, Georgia."

"Blaze," I whisper, stunned. "You really feel like that?"

Hope tries to burst out of my chest while I wait for his answer, but I rein it in, a little afraid I'm reading more into this than I should. Terrified he doesn't mean it as much as I want him to mean it. The end of my time at the company has been weighing on me heavily for weeks because I didn't want to leave him.

Does he know how many times I show up at the office just to see him? Almost daily. Sariah covers for me; tells him I have fittings even though I don't. She knows I'm crazy about him. Everyone knows.

If he doesn't feel the same way, I don't think I'm going to survive it. Just the thought feels like a knife deep in my chest, cutting through vital organs. I don't like it.

Please, Baby Jesus, can I please have him for Christmas? I won't ask for anything else ever again.

"I did." His boots hit the last step. He's not even breathing hard as he looks down at me. "I don't anymore."

"Oh." I lick my lips as he carries me down the hall, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure he hears it. I certainly do. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Like a war drum calling soldiers to battle. Even the floor moves beneath Blaze's feet, though I'm guessing that's his doing and not a thousand horses charging down the hall. "Why…why not?"

He doesn't answer me, at least not right away. He carries me into the master bedroom, stopping only long enough to hit the light switch. I gape around me. His bedroom is easily the size of an entire house. Three deep steps lead from a sitting area into the bedroom proper. His bed, ornately carved from the same dark wood as the floors, rests in its own oasis of tranquility. Three entire walls and the ceiling are glass. Everywhere I look, I see silvery clouds and raindrops.

"Wow," I whisper.

He grunts, carrying me down the steps toward the bed. At five-ten, I'm not remotely close to short. But his bed is so high up, I think I'll need a ladder to climb into it. He deposits me in it, laying me back. I sink into it like a cloud, groaning in pure bliss.

I groan again when he crawls over me, planting his arms on either side of my head. He keeps his weight off me, just staring at me like he can't look away.

"This became the best fucking Christmas I've ever had when you called me daddy the first time today, Georgia," he says, his voice soft. His lips brush mine, as soft as his voice.

"It's not Christmas yet."

"Feels like it," he mutters, nipping at my bottom lip. "Feels like my birthday, Thanksgiving, and the Fourth of July, too."

"For me too," I whisper.

"You're scared of what's between us."

"That's the thing, Blaze," I whisper, shaking my head. "The fact that I'm not scared is what scares me."

"Why, little one?"

"Because I love it so much," I admit, my voice shaking with sincerity. "Because I've never wanted anything like this before." Tears fill my eyes, though I'm not sure why. Maybe because I've never felt this vulnerable or exposed before. When he looks at me, he sees me, in ways no one else has. Those cocoa eyes sift right through every secret thought, coax out every hidden desire. "What if…what if I want more than you?"

I don't know how to guard my heart against him when he already possesses every inch of it. He could crush it so easily. That's what scares me. The fact that I want to drown myself in him and never come up for air again. I want to be his baby girl, not just tonight but permanently. I want to give myself over to him and this thing raging like a fire between us. If he doesn't want it the same way, there won't be enough of my heart left to put back together.

"You think I don't want it, Georgia?"

"I'm scared you don't want it the same way. That…that this doesn't mean the same thing to you that it does to me, Blaze. It means everything to me. I want you to mean it when you say you want to marry me," I whisper, feeling shy, probably for the first time in my life. It's silly. This man has seen more of me than anyone else, but this is what makes me feel shy.

"Little one," he whispers, a gentle rebuke in his voice. "You think I don't mean it? That I'd let you go now? That I could let you go now?" His eyes tell the truth I've been so afraid to look for, the one I need more than I need my next breath. "Never, baby girl. Never. You're my fucking world."

"Blaze," I whisper, hot tears of relief spilling down my cheeks.

He kisses each one away, his beard tickling my lips. And then his are locked on them, claiming them in a searing kiss that echoes in my soul. I feel him in there, burrowing deep. Taking up residence like he owns the place.

This man. God, the way he makes me feel. His kisses are intoxicating, far more powerful than the whiskey I tasted in the limo. Every single one sends a bolt of pure lust through me. It strikes against the pleasure center deep in my womb and ripples outward to consume all of me. I feel it rising inside of me like an electrical charge building. It crackles against my skin, humming with energy. When it finally detonates, it'll shake my world.

"I'm so fucking in love with you it's making me crazy," he breathes against my lips.

"Me too," I admit, writhing beneath him in anticipation. In bliss. How many times have I dreamed about him saying that to me? Every day since I met him. Every night too. I needed to hear it with a desperation I've never felt before.

"I know." His lips curve into a smile. "You've been a naughty little thing, baby girl."

"Only because you weren't paying attention."

"Paying attention? Baby girl, I haven't gotten a single fucking thing done since you waltzed into my office two months ago," he growls, kissing his way down my neck to my chest. "All I do is obsess over you. Are you happy? Did you sleep well? Are the horny little motherfuckers on campus leaving you alone? Did you eat?" He punctuates each question with a kiss to the tops of my breasts, lavishing attention on them. "You're all I think about. Every single moment of the day."

"Blaze," I gasp, writhing beneath that talented mouth. I knew his beard felt good against my skin, but damn. This is next level amazing. "Really? You think about all that?"

"You think me being your daddy is all about wanting to fuck you, Georgia?"

"No…well, I hope not," I admit. "I…um…"

"Tell me."

"I want that," I blurt, squeezing my eyes closed. "For you to f-fuck me, I mean. But I also want other stuff. Daddy stuff."

He chuckles, his body shifting against mine. "I plan to fuck you, baby girl. Repeatedly. I'm going to teach you all sorts of wicked things in this bed," he growls, yanking my top down to expose my breasts. My bra drags across my nipples, pulling a moan from me. "I'm going to suck on these pretty little things until you're pleading for mercy and eat you until you're screaming. I'm going to fuck you until you think you're going to break. But I'm also going to take care of you, little one. That's what a daddy does. He takes care of his baby girl."

"Oh," I whisper, a weight falling off my shoulders I didn't even realize I carried. He does understand. I think part of me was afraid he wouldn't. I think I worried that the things I want from him would somehow make me less than he is, but I was wrong. I'm not inferior to him, not at all. He doesn't want them less than I do. We're equals in this, two sides of the same coin. Yin and yang.

In cosmology, they call it divine polarity. Light can't exist without the dark to give it life. Dark can't exist without the light to balance it. We're opposites in every way—the growly billionaire and the bubbly model, the bossy daddy and his bratty baby girl—yet we're equals in every way one can be equal. Polarity. He balances me. I bring him to life.

He's bringing me to life right now. Somehow, when his eyes are on me, I feel bold in ways I never have before. He makes me feel invincible and so damn hot. He makes me feel beautiful too. As a model, I hear it a lot, but I never cared what anyone else thought about me or my body or the way I look. I model because I'm good at it, because it gives me the opportunity to see the world.

I care what Blaze thinks. For him, I want to be beautiful.

"Now," he says, pure wickedness stamped across every line of his face, "Are you going to tell me what you want me to do to you, or do you need me to fuck the truth out of you, little one?"

I know what he wants, but I don't give it to him. What's the fun in that?

"You can do whatever you want to do to me, daddy," I whisper instead. "I promise I won't tell."