Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO-Chapter 64: Taken ... Care Of

ELIZABETH HERALD

The sedative Dr. Inford had given me made my limbs heavy, my thoughts slow and thick as poured syrup. I blinked up at the ceiling, tracing the intricate patterns of the tiles as if they were maze puzzles I needed to figure out.

Blake’s voice cut through the mind fog. "Elizabeth."

I turned my head—too fast—and the room tilted. "Mmm?"

He stood by the bed, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted with dark hair. His jaw was set, his mouth a hard line. "You need to eat."

"Why do you have a grumpy face?"

"It’s not my grumpy face. It’s my worried face."

"Why are you worried?"

"Because you had an allergic reaction in my bedroom and fainted. Also, you’re naked under that towel." He lifted a pizza box. "You need to eat."

I squinted at the big square box in his hands. "Is that...?"

"Pepperoni and pineapple. By the way, Italy called and said you’re breaking the law by eating pineapple on your pizza."

"Italy’s not the boss of me," I said.

He set the box on the nightstand, then hesitated before sitting on the edge of the mattress. The bed dipped under his weight, and I rolled slightly toward him, catching the faint scent of his cologne—expensive, woodsy, with a hint of spice.

I struggled to sit up, the towel slipping. I yanked it back up, my face heating. "I should probably put on the clothes you gave me."

Blake’s gaze flickered over me, lingering for half a second too long on my bare shoulders before he turned away. "I’ll step out."

"No, it’s fine." I clutched the towel tighter. "Just—hand me the shirt?"

He reached for the gray Nike shirt and held it out without looking at me. I snatched it, then hesitated.

"Blake."

"What?"

"I can’t exactly put this on without letting go of the towel."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He still didn’t turn. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No." The word slipped out before I could stop it. "Just... close your eyes."

He exhaled sharply but obeyed.

I dropped the towel and yanked the shirt over my head as fast as I could, wincing as the fabric brushed against the lingering hives on my back. The shirt drowned me, the hem falling to mid-thigh. The sweatpants were next—I shimmied into them under the covers, nearly getting tangled in the process.

"Done," I announced.

Blake opened his eyes, his gaze immediately dropping to where the oversized shirt slipped off one of my shoulders. His fingers flexed, as if resisting the urge to fix it. Or maybe the urge to do something else more naughty.

"Eat," he ordered, pushing the pizza box toward me.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I grabbed a slice and took a huge bite, groaning as the flavors hit my tongue. "Oh my God. This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted."

Blake watched me, his gaze lingering on my lips. "You really haven’t had pizza since you were ten?"

I shook my head, swallowing. "Stepmonster thinks carbs are the devil."

"Your stepmother is a sadist."

I snorted. "Tell me something I don’t know."

He leaned back, studying me. "Why do you call her that?"

"Because ’stepmother’ implies she’s ever done anything motherly." I picked at the crust. "She married my dad six months after my mom died. Moved into our house, redecorated everything, erased every trace of my mom like she never existed. Then she shipped me off to boarding school the second I turned fourteen."

Blake’s expression darkened. "And your father allowed that?"

I shrugged. "He was grieving. Or so everyone says. Honestly, I think he was just relieved someone else was handling me."

A silence settled between us, heavy and uncomfortable. I focused on the pizza, suddenly not as hungry as before.

Blake’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening.

"Problem?" I asked.

"My mother." He stood, pacing to the window. "She wants to know if you’re alive."

"Tell her I’m thriving."

He shot me a look.

I sighed. "Fine. Tell her I’m not dead."

He typed something, then pocketed his phone. "She also wants to know if we’re coming back downstairs."

"Absolutely not." I shuddered. "I’d rather eat glass."

Blake smirked. "That’s what I told her."

I grinned, then winced as a fresh wave of itching flared across my back. I twisted, trying to scratch without being obvious.

Blake noticed immediately. "Still bothering you?"

"A little."

He crossed the room and grabbed the pill bottle Dr. Inford had left. "Take another dose."

I swallowed the pill dry, making a face. "Tastes like chalk and regret."

Blake arched a brow. "You’ve tasted regret before?"

"Every time I open my mouth in public."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "You’re not wrong."

I stuck my tongue out at him.

His gaze dropped to my mouth again, lingering for a heartbeat too long before he reached out and rubbed his fingers on the side of my lips. "Cheese," he explained. "You should rest."

"I’m not tired." Even as I said it, a yawn cracked my jaw.

Blake lifted his eyebrows.

I scowled. "Fine. But only because the drugs are kicking my ass."

He pulled back the covers, and I slid under them, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. His fingers brushed my collarbone as he adjusted the blanket, sending an erotic shiver down my spine.

"Blake?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you doing this?"

He stilled. "Doing what?"

"Being... nice." I waved my hand. "Pizza. Rescuing me from allergic reactions. Not letting your family auction you off to Giselle."

He sat on the edge of the bed again. "I told you. I’m not being nice."

"Then what is ... this?"

He gently grasped my chin and tipped my head up, looking into my eyes. I saw longing there. The same kind of yearning I felt in my own heart and body. My breath hitched. "This is me being selfish. I don’t want to share you."

"I’m not a dessert."

"Debatable." He let my chin go and brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Sleep. You’re safe here."

He stood and walked away, turning off the lights before he left.

The door clicked shut behind him.

I lay there in the dark, my heart pounding, my skin still tingling where he’d touched me.

I don’t want to share you.

What the hell did that mean?

And why did the thought of finding out send a thrill straight through me?

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