Blaire - Part One(156)By: Anita Gray
“Once you're better, yeah. Just try and stop me.” He winks at me, making my stomach roll with need for him. For us to be together.
I stare at Charlie for a while, urgently storing the image of his face in my memory for my dreams, so I can dream of nothing else but him.
“Thank you,” I whisper, just if it's too late.
“Thank you?” His eyebrows draw together, and he entwines his fingers through mine to hold my hand, causing my hand to pinch against the cannula needle. “Thank you for what?”
“You came for me.”
His eyes enlarge again. He looks insulted. “I came for you because I love you, Blaire, and I'd do it again, and again, and again.”
He loves me... I'll never tire of hearing him say that.
“You don't have to thank me for anything,” his voice comes out dark and hurt. “If anything, you should be telling me that you fucking hate me—it's my fault you're in this state.”
He kept apologizing in the car earlier too, blaming himself as James blames himself. What is it with the men in my life? One minute they're so twisted and cold, and the next they can't do enough for me.
“You shouldn't have had to do that tonight,” Charlie says, reminding me that I shot my master, “and I'm sorry for that too. I'm sorry for everything but I promise, I'll make it all up to you.”
“Tonight couldn't have gone any other way,” my lips wobble as I say that, emotional pain seeping through the cracks of my medicated numbness. “If you or anyone else ended him, I'm not sure how I would have reacted, and I don't want to hurt you, Charlie... I'd rather die.”
Sighing, Charlie cups the back of my head and draws me closer to him, so we’re mere inches from each other. He's holding the wound where someone whacked me but it doesn't matter. I want him near. His clean-musky scent... the warmth of his body... it calms my nerves.
He kisses my lips with the softest of intentions, like if he kisses any harder I might break. My heart squeezes. It's like all those times before when my chest squeezed but I now realize it was my heart all along.
“I love you, Blaire,” he says softly against my mouth before sitting back, putting too much distance between us. Reaching out for the anesthetic on the tray, he inserts the needle into the cannula attached to my hand and presses down on the syringe. My vein floods with cold, filling my bloodstream with a warm, dopy sensation that will take me in a deep slumber.
“Now close your eyes, baby, and think of something nice.”