Rescuing Sophia (CHARLIE Team: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists #5)

4. Sophia

FOUR

Sophia

The sizzle of bacon in the hot pan fills the small kitchen as I crack eggs into a bowl. My movements are precise, almost ritualistic—designed to be flawless.

The rich scent of coffee brewing mingles with the savory aroma of the bacon, wrapping me in a warm, comforting cocoon that almost makes me forget where I am.

Almost.

I steal a glance at the closed bedroom door, my heart quickening. Blake is still asleep, and I’m determined to make everything perfect for when he wakes up. It’s the least I can do to show my gratitude for everything he’s done. But deep down, this gesture means more. I need to make him see me as more than just an assignment.

Because he’s been assigned to me.

No big mystery there.

Guardian HRS wants something out of me.

Everyone wants something out of me.

There’s no such thing as true freedom when everyone wants something.

Whatever. I roll my eyes, the thought almost reflexive .

I’m used to being used. I turn back to the skillet with a frown. The only good thing about any of this is that I get to play pretend.

Pretend I’m free.

Pretend I can be loved.

Pretend I have a future worth fighting for.

And, if I’m going to pretend, I might as well have a little fun.

Blake is super-hot, and guys like him know their way around a woman’s body. For once, I could enjoy intimacy without fear or force. Maybe, just maybe, I could find out what it’s like to be with someone because I want to, not because I have to. I’ve never felt the thrill of mutual desire before, but just thinking about it sends a shiver of excitement down my spine.

The omelet slides easily onto a plate, steam rising in delicate wisps. I’ve added extra cheese, hoping it’ll mask any imperfections in my cooking.

It’s been years since I’ve cooked anything. Slaves aren’t allowed near kitchens where weapons might be within reach. My hands tremble slightly as I arrange the plate on the small dining table, the memories of captivity and powerlessness flooding back, a reminder of the years I spent stripped of even the smallest freedoms.

A soft groan from the bedroom makes me freeze.

Is he awake?

I quickly pour a cup of coffee, adding a generous amount of cream and sugar. Men like their coffee sweet. At least my master does.

I shake my head, banishing those thoughts. This is different. Blake is different.

The bedroom door creaks open, Blake emerges, his dark brown hair tousled from sleep, a wild mane against his otherwise disciplined persona.

He’s shirtless, every inch of his athletic, muscular frame catching the soft morning light. His presence fills the room like a primal force, raw and untamed.

My gaze travels slowly from the small scar above his left eyebrow, a remnant of some childhood mishap, down to his piercing-blue eyes that see straight through me. He moves with the grace of a predator, each step deliberate and powerful, his muscles rippling under his skin.

Heat floods my cheeks as I watch him, my breath catching in my throat. The air crackles with his raw, intoxicating energy, making my heart race and my skin tingle. The sight of him is exhilarating, a heady mix of excitement and danger that makes my pulse quicken.

My gaze lingers on the defined lines of his chest and the subtle dip of his abdomen, leading to the waistband of his low-slung pants.

He pauses, his eyes locking onto mine, and the room seems to shrink around us. The intensity of his gaze sends a shiver down my spine. It’s like staring into the eyes of a wild animal, unpredictable and thrilling.

My body reacts instinctively, a wave of desire crashing over me as I take in the sheer virility of him, every inch the embodiment of untamed masculinity.

I openly savor each inch of his physique, how his muscles ripple with the slightest movement, and how his powerful presence commands my attention. A blush creeps up my neck when I finally meet his eyes again.

Sleeping with him is going to be fun.

At least, I have that to look forward to.

Blake smirks, catching the way my eyes roam over his body. “Like what you see?” His voice is a low, teasing rumble that sends another shiver down my spine.

I raise an eyebrow, refusing to be embarrassed. “Of course.” I let my gaze travel over him again, making no effort to hide my appreciation. “You’re the whole damn feast, and I’m an appreciative person.”

“Glad to know I’m appreciated.” His smirk deepens, and he steps closer.

I meet his gaze head-on, my heart pounding but my composure intact.

“Very much so.” My voice is sultry, hinting at the playful promise of more to come.

“Hmmm…” Blake’s eyes darken with desire, the tension be tween us electric. “What do I smell? Did you make breakfast for me?”

“I did. I can’t say what it tastes like. My kitchen skills leave much to be desired.” My voice comes out higher than intended—squeaky even.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Blake blinks, surprise evident on his face.

“I wanted to. Not that there was much to choose from in the fridge, but whoever stocked it for me, please tell them thank you for me.”

“I had it stocked.”

“Then thank you very much.” I gesture to the table, suddenly unsure. “It’s a simple omelet, but I thought… Well, I hope you like it.”

“It smells great. Thank you.” A small smile tugs at his lips.

I stand there, twisting my hands together, watching as he sits down, my heart pounding. He takes a sip of the coffee first, and I hold my breath. When his eyes widen, and he sputters, nearly spitting it out, my stomach drops.

Oh no! He hates it.

Why did I even try?

But despite the mishap, I can’t help but admire how he handles it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression more surprised than annoyed. He’s so effortlessly composed, even in moments like this. I suddenly feel self-conscious, wondering if I’ll ever measure up, if I can ever truly be the kind of woman who fits into his world.

“I’m sorry.” I reach for the cup, my hands trembling. “I’m sorry. I thought… I mean, I can do better. I can make it again.” My voice quivers, my mind racing, desperate to fix this, to make him happy, fearing the worst.

Every fiber of my being screams to fix this, to make him happy, to ensure his satisfaction at all costs. The old, ingrained fears surface, the ones that tell me a mistake like this could have severe consequences.

The desperation to please him overwhelms me, and I can barely breathe as I wait for his reaction, praying I haven’t ruined everything.

Blake holds up a hand, swallowing with visible effort. “It’s fine,” he croaks. “I just—usually take it black.”

Embarrassment floods through me. Of course you do. How could I be so stupid?

“I’ll make a new pot.” I turn away to hide the trembling of my hands.

“Sophia.” He suddenly stands, and I shrink back, expecting a blow, but he grabs my arms and makes me look at him.

His gaze locks onto mine.

“Stop.” He’s firm but kind. “I’m not upset, and I’m not going to take it out on you.”

His steady gaze and reassuring words soothe my frantic heart. His touch grounds me, and the fear recedes, though the old instincts are hard to shake.

“I’m sorry, I just…” My voice falters as I struggle to find the right words. “Mistakes were never tolerated. I don’t know how to react. I’ll do better next time.”

“The omelet looks delicious. Why don’t you sit down and join me?”

I hesitate, glancing back at him. Blake’s eyes are soft and kind, and his posture is open and inviting. Slowly, I turn, my heart still racing but soothed by his sincerity.

He gestures to the seat beside him, and I take a tentative step. He reaches out, lightly touching my arm, grounding me in the moment.

“You don’t have to be perfect. Just be here with me.”

I swallow hard and finally take the seat next to him. My body is still tense but beginning to relax. His smile is reassuring, and for the first time, I allow myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to please him at all costs.

I can simply be me.

Whoever that is.

We eat in silence for a few moments, the only sound the scrape of forks against plates. The omelet is decent, if a bit overcooked, but I can hardly taste it, let alone swallow past the lump in my throat.

“So,” I say, desperate to break the awkward silence. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

Blake looks up, surprise flitting across his face. “Well, I have to report in and go over some intel. You can stay here and rest if you’d like.”

The thought of being left alone in this strange apartment sends a shiver of panic through me. The silence is too loud.

“Stay here? All day?” I try to keep my voice light, but fear creeps in at the edges. My fingers twist together again ; a nervous habit I can’t control. “By myself?”

“Is that a problem?” His brow furrows, but there’s concern in his piercing blue eyes.

I force a smile, leaning forward slightly, my agitation barely contained.

“I was hoping you might show me around. I’d love to see more.” My voice wavers slightly, betraying my attempt at nonchalance.

And spend more time with you.

“You don’t have to wait for me. You can go out and look around if you want.” Blake shrugs, his tone casual.

“You mean I can… I can leave the apartment by myself?” I blink in surprise.

“Of course you can.” His expression softens. “You’re not a prisoner, Sophia. You can come and go freely.”

Can I?

I’m here because Guardian HRS fears Jonathan Greaves will try to take me back. They’re not wrong about that. Well, it’s not Greaves who wants me back, but that’s another story.

“I—I’ve never been allowed to walk around on my own.” I look at him, the weight of his words sinking in.

Blake’s hand hovers above the table, fingers twitching like they have a will of their own. His jaw clenches, muscles tightening beneath his skin, and his eyes flash with something raw and unguarded.

He shifts in his seat, shoulders tensing, betraying his internal battle. He looks at me, his gaze torn between the restraint of duty and the undeniable urge to offer comfort.

“I just don’t want to be alone,” I confess, my voice trembling slightly.

Blake’s resolve wavers and he finally gives in, taking my hand in his. The contact sends a shiver down my spine.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” His gaze heats. “I’ll make time to show you around. We can do it together.”

“Thank you. Thank you. I’d really like that.” Relief and a hint of triumph wash over me.

My first genuine smile breaks free after years of captivity. I catch his eye, drawing on every ounce of vulnerability I can muster. “And thank you for staying with me last night. You went above and beyond, and I’m grateful for it.” My voice is steadier now but still soft. “I—I felt safe.”

“I’m glad it helped.” His expression is warm and reassuring. “You’ve been through a lot, and it can feel strange in a new place. You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

“I appreciate everything you’re doing to help me.” I let my voice shake slightly, my eyes wide with calculated vulnerability.

Men love vulnerable women; it makes them feel powerful. Even if I genuinely crave Blake’s touch, a part of me remains guarded, wary of his power.

“Any time, and it’s my pleasure.” His blue eyes soften even more.

It’s a small victory and a good start. I lower my gaze demurely, hiding the small, secret smile that threatens to reveal my true intentions. I plan on many nights with Blake in my bed.

If I have to do this, I might as well enjoy it. There’s no reason to deny myself pleasure with a man who looks like Blake.

As he finishes his breakfast, I carefully craft my next move.

“Everything here is so new and—overwhelming. I hate to take you away from your work.” I look at him through my lashes, knowing it’s too soon to do the flutter thing.

Seduction is an art.

Less is best.

“But I do really appreciate it.” My voice is soft and sincere. “ How about we ride around in one of those golf carts? It would be a fun way to see everything. And maybe, if it’s not too much trouble, you could take me to where you work? I’d love to see more of what you do.”

“Sounds like a plan.” His eyes flicker with consideration.

Relief and triumph swirl within me as I clear the dishes and place them in the sink. I’m good to let them stay there, but to my surprise, Blake grabs a sponge and cleans everything.

“Blake, you don’t have to do that. I’ll get it done. Don’t worry about it.” I reach out to take the sponge from him.

He stops me, his grip gentle but firm. “Sophia, you don’t have to do the dishes. Let me do this for you.”

His words floor me. I’ve spent years serving and pleasing others, but having someone care for me like this is beyond anything I’ve known. His insistence and kindness are too much to process.

I stand there, watching him finish the task, my heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper… Something I can’t quite name.