Blaire Dark Romance

by Anita Gray

  “That's really nice of you, Charlie,” I say, getting lost in him. “Do you handle things on your own? Your organization, I mean.”

  “No.” He smirks at me, slyness glowing in his eyes. “I've got two brothers.”

  I raise my eyebrows, stunned and impressed at once. Imagine that, three of Charlie?

  “Nicolas—or Nic, as everyone calls him—and Andres,” he says.

  “How old are you all?”

  “Andres is twenty-five and Nic is thirty-two.”

  I arch a brow at him.

  “I'm twenty-eight.”

  Twenty-eight... Wow.

  I study Charlie's face now. He looks about twenty-eight, though his features are flawless—if you can overlook how wickedly intense and full of wisdom his eyes are, that is.

  “What are your brothers like?” I say, blinking at him, still studying how handsome he is. I'm really interested in his brothers. I'm interested about how similar they all are.

  A large, devious smile spreads across Charlie's face. “Andres is like me. Nic is an egotistical, smutty bastard, though loyal to the bone.”

  “Are they both Los Zetas too?”

  “Yeah,” he whispers, looking right at me. “They trained with the military from thirteen, as I did, and were more than ready for the world's war when I took over the Los Zetas.”

  For hours he tells me stories about how he and his brothers grew up in Mexico, how they were all happy until his father left the army, how even after he ended his parents at just seventeen, he is as close as ever with his siblings.

  Night falls.

  Charlie gets up to make dinner and I decide to help him: peel and cut the carrots while he seasons the meat. We continue talking, standing side by side in the cooking space. He asks a few questions about me and how I grew up with Maksim. “You can carry on from the feelings you were telling me about if you want to?”

  I tell him that I can't talk about it. “I'm sorry, Charlie.” But he's understanding. No, more than understanding. As if he never asked me anything at all, he returns to telling me more stories of his childhood.

  I can't ever remember a time where I felt so relaxed in someone's company. I'm not sure why I feel so at ease with Charlie, but I do, and I'm glad that I do. Things are better this way.

  21

  Four days of pure mental connection with Charlie, and my period ends.

  I'm so fucking glad that I could die of relief. My desire for him and my overly curious mind are back to a more manageable state, and I'm me again.

  We fall back into our routine of sparring at the crack of dawn and eating dinner at sunset, however, now, we have breakfast and lunch together. I pretty much spend all my time with Charlie. I have no idea how he ever makes time for 'work' because he's always with me. Yes, he conducts calls during the daytime—or he does now that I'm done asking questions—but that's where his 'work' seems to end. It's like his life revolves around me. Fuck knows why. I'll be gone in around six week's time.

  I try not to think about that—this ending—because I've come to like living with Charlie. I've grown comfortable around him... used to him... I'm not sure how he's achieved making me feel like this, but he has, and I'm thankful. When he first took me from Maksim, my life was turned upside down. There wasn't a single moment of peace in my days. I was always anxious about him and what he might do to me. Now, I look forward to seeing him. I'm at peace all the time. I wake feeling refreshed and rested, and I spend my days in what I can only describe as contentment. There's no carnage with Charlie. There's no brutality. There's no walking on egg shells. There's just... this...

  Even in the gym, like now, we're sparring and I'm not focusing on all my natural combatant senses. I don't feel the need to with him anymore, and he knows. He tells me that he knows and asks why. “What's changed?”

  I shrug at him, my chest rising and falling with heavy pants because we've been going at it for over an hour straight.

  “Here.” He passes me a towel so I can wipe my sweaty face. I do. The soft material is cold because it's been lying over our bottles of water, and it smells like Charlie.

  “Do you know what I reckon?” he says, helping me out of the ring by holding my hands.

  Standing up to him, I say with a smirk, “What do you reckon, Charlie?” passing back the towel.

  He drapes it over the ring ropes and puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side where he's warm and damp. He's never done this before. It makes my stomach... flutter?

  “I reckon you like me now,” he says in my ear, walking me toward the exit doors, “and not just a little bit.”

  “Well, sure I do.” Tipping my neck back, I frown up at him—that's hardly rocket science.

  As if he's accomplished a great goal, he grins, then he squeezes me against his side.

  “It took long enough,” he says, laughter lingering under his tone. “But you're worth the wait.”

  Now my stomach is going like crazy. Does he really mean that?

  Reaching the doors, he pushes them open with his other hand and urges me onward with him. It's a little awkward to walk with him like this, under his arm, but I don't mind. I enjoy his affections.

  “I've gotta go away this weekend for business,” he says. “Youwant to come with me?”

  Today is the day I discover that he does things other than phone calls, it seems, and I will confess, I'm glad he's offered me the chance to go with him—I want to be around him all the time since that change happened between us. He's not at all like Maksim. He talks to me, spends time with me for things other than jobs, and he's never physically hurt me for being rude and/or insulting.

  The fact that he's never hurt me has sealed the deal for me taking a liking to him. He could have conditioned me with brutality, but he hasn't. I think that was his initial plan, to beat me into being loyal to him, but somewhere along the way he's changed his mind. I don't understand why. I don't care to want to understand why. All I do understand is—all I do know is—I like Charlie, and I doubt anything could sway my mind from that now.

  “If you want me to go with you,” I say softly, as we reach the bottom of the staircase, “then sure.”

  “Don't you get tired of that?”

  I turn out from under his arm and walk up a few steps, putting us at eye level.

  “Of what?” I grip the banister rail, mentally holding his blue gaze.

  “People pleasing,” he says, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall on one shoulder. “Don't you ever justwant to do what you want to do?”

  I screw up my features.

  “Well, for example,” he stares at my mouth as I lick my lips, “don't youwant to eat what you fancy rather than what people tell you to eat? Don't you have taste preferences for food?”

  I still don't get him, and he seems to know.

  “Okay... how about this: do you want to come with me this weekend or stay here?” He lifts a steady hand to cut me off from interrupting him. “It's a simple question. And don't ask what I want. I'm only interested in what you want.”

  “Well, yeah, I guess I'd like to come.” I focus on my fingers stroking over the glossy banister outlay. “I've been stuck in this house for nearly two months.”

  “I know you have,” he sounds almost sorry, reaches out and gives my other hand a squeeze, causing everything in me to tighten. “That's partly why I want you to come with me. I also need to get some food, so you can come shopping with me and tell me what you want to eat. You can have whatever you want.”

  The penny drops and I can't help this horrid sinking feeling that washes over me.

  He's only interested in what I want. I can have whatever I want. That's bullshit. Men like him don't put women before themselves.

  I give Charlie this look, silently telling him that I know what he's up to—the emotional bonding. I haven't really noticed it much before today—I've been too focused on fancying him and connecting with him—but now, I know. I don't know how I've sudde
nly realized his agenda, but I know. Him spending time with me, telling me about his sister and his brothers, letting me listen in on his phone calls, the sweet gestures, the way he looks at me...

  “What?” he says, pulling his eyebrows together.

  “I know what you're doing, Charlie.” I school my attention on my fingers again so I don't chicken out of telling him what I think. “I know you're trying to emotionally bond me to you.”

  He scoffs, but not out of anger. He sounds conquered. “I think we're both a bit past that now, don't you?”

  ———

  I don't answer Charlie. Not even when he cocks his head to the side and says, “Are you ever gonna open up to me about how you feel?”

  Turning on my heel, I go upstairs and spend the rest of the morning alone, a little pissed off but more confused if anything.

  I try to focus on mentally preparing for London—it's been so long since I was in the city and it reminds me of Maksim in so many ways—but I can't focus. I can't stop deliberating over how Charlie responded to my opinion about the emotional bonding. What did he mean by, 'I think we're both a bit past that now, don't you?' I'm almost certain he means he's accomplished his goal with me but I just... I'm not sure. Or maybe I don't want to believe that's the answer.

  I wrack my brain for hours, amid taking a shower and dressing, but I don't come up with a better explanation than his agenda, and that hurts in a way I've never felt before.

  I consider asking him what he meant, hoping he'll tell me the truth, but when he comes into my room, dressed in jeans and a long sleeve red sweater, my thoughts blank.

  “You've had a shower?” he says, opening the armoire. He's holding a duffle bag in one hand.

  I nod at him, then climb into the middle of my bed and cross my legs, watching him with caution.

  “We'll be gone for a few days,” he's speaking to the armoire, “but just in case business drags, I'll pack you some extra clothes.”

  “What business do you have to sort out in London?”

  He gathers around four days’ worth of clothes for me and folds them in the duffle bag. “First, I need to see Maksim.”

  “Maksim?” I say, my eyes widening. “You-you want me to come with you while you see Maksim?”

  “No,” he glances back and laughs fondly at me. “You can stay at the hotel while I pay him a visit.” He then says something about meeting up with his men but I'm not really paying attention. I'm too fucking nervous about running into Maksim while with Charlie. How uncomfortable will that be?

  Strolling across my room, Charlie puts the bag on my bed. “Once everything is taken care of, we can go out for dinner if you want? Then we can go dancing or go see a movie...”

  I don't think about the whole 'dinner and dancing/movie' thing. I couldn't even if I wanted to.

  “What is it, Blaire?” Holding my questioning gaze, Charlie gives me his full attention.

  “Why haven't you seen... him, already?” I hide my hands in the sleeves of my sweater. “I thought you were meeting up with him a week after you took me?”

  I remember Maksim saying on the night Charlie took me, 'I'll see you in a week or so, Charlie'.

  “I've been enjoying my time with you,” Charlie says. He sits next to me, causing me to sink into his side because the bed dips. He looks down at me, his eyes too blue. “I've not wanted to leave.”

  My chest does that odd squeezy thing as he says that. How strange that we both feel the same?

  Or do we, really?

  “Do youwant to come with me for the weekend?” he asks, his eyes flickering between mine.

  I don't answer his question. I'm searching for the right words to pose my own niggling question at him.

  “Blaire?” He glowers at me, and he seems on edge.

  “What did you mean by, 'you think we're a bit past that now'?” There, I asked him, and I feel better for it.

  There's a moment where we stare at each other. I'm beckoning him to just tell me the fucking truth. He's very deadpan.

  “I've got feelings for you,” he says in time, sounding really sincere. “What'd you think I meant?”

  “Oh.” I blink at him all cross-eyed, my cheeks blazing. I never expected him to say that. “I don't know what I thought you meant. I guess I just...” Shaking my head, I stop this conversation with, “Never mind.”

  “Oh'kay,” he says, skeptical. He then touches a length of hair on my shoulder; runs his fingers down it. “Do youwant to come to London with me then?”

  I shake my head minutely, dropping my gaze. I don't want to be anywhere near Maksim while living with Charlie. It's too weird. What if Maksim calls me over or something? Would I need to ask Charlie for permission?

  Fuck, this is so uncomfortable.

  “S’all right, Blaire.” He gives my foot a squeeze, making my toes curl against his hand. “If youwant to stay here, then you can—I've told you many of times, you can do whatever you want to do while living with me.”

  Closing my eyes, I breathe out with relief. That was easier than I thought it would be.

  “Do you want me to bring anything back for you?” he says softly. “Do you need anything?”

  I try to focus on my needs but I can't—my head is swimming—so I shrug.

  “All right,” he whispers.

  “Will you be okay going on your own?” I ask, a sickening feeling of worry coming over me. What if something happens to him and I'm not there to protect him?

  He flashes me his most doting smile. “I'll be fine, Blaire. All my men will be around.”

  “At the hotel too?”

  He nods.

  That eases my worry a little, though I'm still nervous something might happen to him. Maybe I should just go with him? But what if we bump into Maksim?

  I frown to myself, conflicted.

  Though I'm clearly acting awkward, Charlie isn't. He gets up, leans over and kisses me on the head, sending some strange feelings through my chest.

  “Here's the key for the white Range Rover.” He pulls it out of his jeans pocket and puts it on the bed beside me. “There's money under the driver's seat, so if you need to go out for anything or if youwant to get a takeaway... There's a few takeaway menu's in the drawer under the coffee machine. To leave, the gate code is four sevens, two ones and nine.”

  I smile at him, mentally bidding him goodbye.

  He leaves for two days—I count every minute.

  22

  Day one alone: I wake feeling relatively normal, I guess because I'm subconsciously expecting breakfast to be made and waiting for me in the oven. It isn't of course, so I thoroughly beat a few eggs, season in salt and pepper, melted butter and double cream, and scramble them in a hot frying pan with a drizzle of olive oil. It feels peculiar to be cooking again, but over the days, it all comes back to me.

  After pouring a coffee, I take my breakfast to the table where I find a military style laptop and a note. Holding my plate in one hand, I put down the coffee and lift the note to my eyes.

  Thought I'd leave this out for you. The password is Decena-in-numbers, literally.

  X

  A warm feeling spreads through my chest at the sight of Charlie's note. Yes, it's brief, but it feels like he's here as I read it.

  I run my thumb over that X, wondering what it means. I soon learn it's not part of the password because I type it in and get a warning.

  Parking up at the table under the warm sunshine beaming in through the windows, heating up my back, I eat my breakfast while reading over the note a few times, chewing slowly because I'm concentrating. He's left this out to keep me occupied, just like he did with the newspapers. I smile for so long that my cheeks ache, but then I roll my eyes. I've officially lost it—become a hormonal female statistic—and I suddenly feel like I've been too judgmental on women. I've always mocked their weakness when it comes to men, the whole 'deer in headlights' stare and stuttering over words... But now I get it. Even while I'm not actually that silly yet, I get it.
>
  To take my mind off my own inanity, I fire up the laptop but end up spending my morning reading up on French/Spanish guys, of all things. I don't know where the need to research Charlie's culture has come from but I find it all very calming.

  The French don't waste time, Google says when I do a more thorough search, while Spanish men apparently like to draw things out, soak up every moment. I laugh to myself, thinking that's what Charlie is like to a T. He's quick to force intimacy but then takes his time once he has a woman in a state of desire.

  Next, I look up what a capital X on the end of a message means. I'm itching to know what it means.

  It denotes a kiss, Google says.

  A strange sensation moves through my body, like a sinking/fluttering sensation but it makes me feel happy. He must know what an X means on the end of a message. He isn't thick.

  Lunchtime comes, though I'm not hungry—I'm too hocked up on this weird fluttering sensation in my stomach—so I shut off the laptop, clean up my breakfast, and head for the gym to train.

  A dark cloud comes over me in here. It's a lonely feeling, given I've always trained in here with Charlie. The space feels bigger and colder, and I jump every time I hear the slightest of sounds—like the drains in the walls clanging. I've never heard that in here before. It's so eerie.

  I shower after working out, then I go downstairs and make myself something to eat for dinner, which isn't much—chicken and bacon pasta. The chicken doesn't taste half as good as when Charlie cooks it.

  Stop thinking about him, I scold myself, but I can't. It's been a really odd day; odder than the first day I spent with Charlie. I've never been completely on my own before—I've always had my phone at least, in case Maksim needed to give me orders—but today... I don't know. I feel a bit lost and mentally white.