CHAPTER 62: CARRIED OFF

ELIZABETH HERALD

"Aren’t you afraid you’ll be disowned by your family?" I asked as Blake carried me up the stairs and down the hallways. The Carter mansion was freaking huge. "Haven’t you heard? I’m a horrible person. I’m indiscriminate with men. I’ve been institutionalized four—no, last summer made five, yeah, five times. And I’ve been to drug rehab twice. You’re really better off marrying Giselle. She’s perfect. Well, she has the personality of beige paint, but other than that, she’s perfect."

"I don’t want her." Blake kept me in his arms as he reached down to open a door. The lights flicked on automatically as we entered a luxurious space that I assumed was a bedroom. It looked more like a penthouse suite, though. Maybe it was. Had we left the Carter estate? I felt floaty. Everything seemed unreal.

"I’m dreaming," I murmured.

"I’m the one dreaming," Blake said, his voice low. "I have you in my arms." I met his gaze. He looked serious, but he couldn’t mean it, right? It was just a cheesy line. He laid me down on the massive bed. "Take off your dress."

"You’re going to be very disappointed, Blake. I am not actually promiscuous." I rose to my elbows and looked at him. "I’m still a virgin." I nodded. "Yes, I turned twenty-two today, and no, I’ve never had sex. Or a boyfriend. Well, except for Bacon. But he only held my hand. And I kissed his cheek once."

Blake’s expression darkened for a fraction of a second before smoothing back into that unreadable mask. "Wait a minute. It was your birthday, and your parents dragged you to one of these tedious dinners?"

"Yes. Also, I’m a virgin. I want to be clear on that in case you start liking my bony shoulders and want to see the rest of me."

A slow smirk curled his lips. "I definitely want to see the rest of you," he said. "But right now, I want you to be comfortable. You said the dress was itchy."

"It is."

"Then take it off."

"Blake, I’m not having sex with you."

He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "I don’t expect us to have sex," he paused, "tonight."

My mouth fell open, and my stomach twisted with something dangerously close to excitement. No—that had to be anxiety. Yes. Anxiety. My body didn’t seem to understand that I would not be getting naked with Winston Blake Carter. I’d never been naked with anyone. I wasn’t stupid or naive—I knew how bodies worked. Hearts, though? Those were a different matter.

My cheeks burned. Blake chuckled. "You’re blushing again, Elizabeth." I pressed my hands against my face, but it did nothing to cool the heat. He straightened, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "Stay put. I’ll get you something comfortable to wear." He strode away before I could argue.

I slumped back onto the bed, my head spinning. My throat was dry, my skin prickling as if a thousand needles were pressing into me. I tried reaching for the zipper again, but my fingers fumbled uselessly. Defeated, I sat there, waiting.

Blake returned moments later, holding black sweatpants and a gray Nike shirt. He set them beside me. I lifted the pants skeptically. "You’re a hundred feet tall, and you have all those muscles," I said. "These are going to swallow me whole."

"They’ll do for now." He shrugged. "I’ll buy you proper clothes before we go celebrate your birthday."

"Celebrate my birthday?" I stared at him, lips pursed. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. "This isn’t nice," he said. "This is the bare minimum of decent behavior." He stepped closer, cupping my chin gently. His thumb brushed over my bottom lip, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine. "You’ll know when I’m actually being nice to you."

I swatted his hand away. "Because you’ll seduce me?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "But that’s not what I meant." He tugged lightly on the spaghetti strap of my dress. "Why are you still wearing this?"

"I can’t reach the zipper."

"How did you get it on?"

"Stepmonster."

He exhaled sharply, as if the word alone annoyed him. "Fine. Let’s go to the bathroom. I’ll unzip you and leave. After we get you proper clothing, we’ll go eat something decadent."

"Pizza?"

"As much as you want," he promised.

"Yes! I haven’t had pizza since I was ten, when Bacon sneaked a couple of slices to me at bad-kids camp."

Blake’s brows lifted. "You were both at bad-kids camp?"

"Nah. He was at regular-kids camp because his parents probably loved him and wanted him to have fun. My stepmother wanted to go to Europe with my father and sister, so..." I trailed off, the memory souring my mood. I shrugged. "Anyway. Meeting Bacon made that summer bearable."

"I’m glad." He offered his hand, and I took it. He pulled me to my feet, steadying me when I swayed. My skin burned hotter with every step. By the time we reached the bathroom, my breath was coming in shallow gasps.

The bathroom was ridiculously lavish—marble floors, gold fixtures, a walk-in shower big enough for a small party, and a sunken tub that could fit four people.

"My skin feels like it’s on fire," I admitted, scratching at my arms. "I can’t wait to get this dress off."

"Me either."

"Blake!"

He laughed, but the sound cut off abruptly when I turned around. His fingers brushed the back of my neck as he pulled the zipper down—then froze.

"What the hell?"

"What’s wrong?"

"There’s some kind of powder on the lining," he said, voice tight. "And your back is covered in red bumps. You’re breaking out in hives."

He yanked the dress down, and I yelped.

"Hey! I’m not wearing a bra!"

"Elizabeth, I’ve seen breasts before."

"Not mine!"

"There’s something on this gown that’s causing a reaction," he snapped. "Take it off now, or I’ll rip it off you myself."

The urgency in his voice sent a spike of fear through me. I shimmied out of the dress, kicking it away before crossing my arms over my chest. Glancing down, I saw angry red welts everywhere the fabric had touched. My stomach lurched.

"What’s happening?"

"Allergic reaction."

My heart hammered against my ribs. My throat tightened, each breath a struggle. "Blake," I wheezed, swaying. The room tilted. I reached for him blindly. "Can’t... breathe..."

Blake cursed, guiding me into the shower. "Sit down and rinse the powder off. Dr. Inford was at dinner—I’ll get him." He helped me sit, but as he pulled away, I grabbed his arm.

"Don’t... leave..."

Water soaked his dress shirt, plastering it to his chest, but he didn’t seem to care. He crouched beside me, pulling out his phone.

"Phone... wet..." I slurred.

"Waterproof," he muttered, dialing. "Mom? Get Dr. Inford to my room. Elizabeth Herald’s in trouble."

A strange numbness spread through my limbs. The edges of my vision darkened. The last thing I felt was Blake’s arms tightening around me before everything went black.

The darkness didn’t last long.

I came to with a gasp, my body jerking as if I’d been electrocuted. Cool air hit my skin—I was no longer in the shower. Instead, I lay on the bed, wrapped in one of Blake’s oversized towels. A man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair hovered over me, pressing a stethoscope to my chest.

"Her pulse is stabilizing," he said, glancing at Blake, who stood rigid at the foot of the bed, his expression stormy.

"What the hell was on that dress?" Blake demanded.

Dr. Inford straightened, removing the stethoscope. "Some kind of irritant—likely itching powder. She’s probably allergic to whatever it is. I’ve given her an antihistamine and a mild sedative to calm the reaction." He turned back to me, his gaze assessing. "Elizabeth, can you tell me if you’ve had any known allergies?"

I shook my head weakly. "My body’s not particularly fond of rose hips. Of rose anything, actually."

His lips thinned. "Itching powder often uses rose hips as irritants."

The words sank in like a knife. My stepmother. It had to be her. She’d been the one to zip me into that torture device, her fingers lingering just a second too long on the fabric. Had she known?

Blake’s jaw clenched. "I’ll handle it."

Dr. Inford packed his bag, leaving a small bottle of pills on the nightstand. "Take one every six hours until the hives fade. Rest tonight—no alcohol, no stress." He shot Blake a pointed look. "That means no excitement."

Blake’s expression didn’t change. "Understood."

The doctor left, the door clicking shut behind him.

I tugged the towel higher, suddenly self-conscious. "Thanks," I mumbled.

Blake didn’t respond. Instead, he stalked to the dress—now a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor—and picked it up with two fingers, his disgust evident. "I’m having this tested."

"Why?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

He turned, his eyes burning with something dangerous. "Because if someone did this to you on purpose, they’re going to regret it."

A shiver ran down my spine. Not from fear—from something else entirely.

Blake tossed the dress aside and grabbed his phone again. "I’m ordering food. You need to eat."

"Pizza?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Pizza."

I sank back into the pillows, exhaustion weighing me down. My skin still itched, but the worst of the reaction had faded. And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel alone.

Blake Carter was many things—arrogant, infuriating, impossibly wealthy—but right now, he was the only person who’d ever looked at me like I mattered.

And that?

That was terrifying.