Blind Attraction

by Eden Summers

  “It’s him,” Kate whispered, her lips barely moving.

  Alana gave a slow nod, and swallowed down the nausea pooling in her throat. She could act cool. She didn’t have a lot of experience talking to men. In fact, she’d only spoken to five people of the opposite sex in the last twelve months. But she could do this.

  “Start breathing before you pass out…and smile. You’ll do great.” Kate squeezed her shoulder and encouraged her to face him with a little push.

  Alana pivoted on her toes while time passed in excruciating seconds. He walked toward her wearing the same cap from earlier and a fresh change of clothes. Their gazes met. He stared at her with gleaming hazel eyes and a cheeky grin which made her insides melt.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  Another band member walked beside him, the guitarist with the raven, spiky hair and tattoos marking both arms. His eyes were blacker than night, dark and ensnaring, yet he had a cocky smirk that made her smile.

  “It’s Blake and Mitch!” The scream came from a group of five female’s hovering near the hall to the function room.

  Neither man flinched at the attention. It wasn’t until then she realized four more men strolled behind them, protecting the rock stars from a distance.

  Blake gave a wave to the hyperventilating women who were being encouraged to stay back by hotel security. He leaned into Mitchell, spoke something in his ear, then changed direction and strode toward the growing crowd.

  Alana glanced back at Mitchell, now only feet away, and swallowed at the intensity in his gaze. His eyes devoured her, caressing her body from her hair to her toes.

  “Hey.” His smooth tone made her breasts tingle and she had no idea why.

  “Hi, Mitch.” Kate’s voice was bubbly and off pitch.

  Alana looked at her and wondered if her friend realized she was bouncing on her toes like a child on a sugar high. She frowned at Kate and received a glare in return. Kate jerked her head toward Mitchell, wordlessly instructing Alana to greet the world famous musician.

  “Hello,” she offered, reaching out her hand before thinking better of it. Did people still shake hands?

  He glanced at her offering and grasped it in his own. His fingers were large, making hers appear childlike. Instead of greeting her in the way she expected, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Fire sliced through her chest, and a moan echoed between them. More than three seconds passed before she realized Kate had been the one to make the noise, not her.

  “Can I buy you both a drink?” He didn’t let go of her hand, just continued to stare into her eyes.

  She glanced at Kate, breaking the connection and breathed through her anxiety. She hoped he couldn’t sense the way her palm began to sweat.

  Kate raised her brows. “It’s up to you, Al.”

  “Al.” Her name came from his lips in a barely audible whisper and she turned her gaze back to him. “Sorry. I’ve been wondering what your name was all night.”

  She pressed her lips together to hide her elation. Mitchell Davies, a man better designed than seemed humanly fair, had been thinking about her name. All night.

  Her insides tingled in a mix of excitement and apprehension. Her mother had taught her not to trust a gorgeous face, yet she easily melted into his touch. “Alana Shelton,” she corrected, and cheered inwardly when her voice didn’t waver.

  He squeezed her hand before letting it go. “Nice to properly meet you, Alana.”

  * * *

  “Let’s get that drink.” Mitch needed to concentrate on something other than the lightest green eyes he’d ever seen. They were more than stunning. They were intoxicating. He felt drugged by their gentle hold, unable to look away.

  “Hey, Mitch.” Blake called out, and jogged toward them. “Ladies,” he greeted with a wave.

  Jealousy washed over him, thick and rich, when Alana flashed her dimples at his best friend.

  “Hi,” she greeted.

  He closed his eyes for a brief moment at the sweet sound. He was in trouble. Big. Huge. Fucking gargantuan trouble. Had it really been that long since he’d been infatuated with a woman? He glanced at Alana and continued to wonder if there’d ever been a female to gain his interest so fast, or so thoroughly.

  “Oh, my gosh. Blake Kennedy. Hi...I’m Kate.”

  Blake chuckled at Alana’s friend. She was the typical star struck groupie. They’d both become accustomed to this response from people. They’d learned how to react and kept their mouths shut on band gossip. The best course of action was to convince themselves the fans were infatuated with the music, not the band members themselves.

  He still hadn’t been able to classify Alana into the star struck category yet. He couldn’t determine if her timid nature came from being excited to meet him or something else entirely.

  “Alana, this is Blake, the bass guitarist for Reckless Beat.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Alana offered her hand and Blake gave it a firm shake.

  “You too, Alana. I’d kiss your knuckles like my boy Mitch did, but I think he might castrate me in my sleep.”

  Blake winked at him, and Mitch glared in return. Smart-ass mother trucker had been watching him while signing autographs with his pack of fan girls.

  Alana lowered those gleaming eyes with a smile and he caught sight of her dimples. Damn, she was cute. He stepped closer, ran his hand along her shoulders and pulled her into his side. She stiffened, her back snapping ramrod straight, poised on the brink of doing a runner. His heart stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have touched her again. He peered down at her and hoped for the best. “Time for a drink?”

  She gave a jerky nod and kept her gaze lowered.

  “I’m going to head upstairs.” Blake gave them a wave.

  Mitch bit his lip to keep from laughing at Kate. The poor woman’s face changed from cartoon-ish elation to utter grief. He suppressed a laugh and turned to Blake, covertly tilted his head toward the grieving woman, hoping he would get the hint.

  “Ahh.” Blake stared back at him with a frown, and then glanced toward the third wheel. “Umm.” He raised his palms in question. “You wanna come upstairs and...” He shrugged at Kate with a confounded expression.

  Blake didn’t drink. So apart from getting naked or watching television, there wouldn’t be much else for them to do. Although Mitch was certain she wouldn’t protest if asked to take her clothes off.

  Alana sucked in a breath, and he tried not to grip her tighter in comfort.

  “Yes.” Blake’s new best friend nodded with enthusiasm. “Will you be all right, Al?”

  Mitch’s heart stopped for the seconds it took her to give a soft nod. “I won’t bite,” he whispered in her ear.

  His words didn’t have the effect he’d hoped for. Instead of receiving a smile or catching another glimpse of her dimples, she swallowed hard and gave a jerky nod.

  They stood in the middle of the foyer, two bodyguards hovering feet away, while Blake and Kate strolled to the elevator. When they pressed the button and the doors opened, Alana sighed and glanced up at him with a wavering smile. “I’m going to need that drink.”

  He chuckled and continued to stare at her. Loose strands of warm brown hair cupped her face and her deep pink lips demanded to be kissed. Rather than fulfilling his body’s need to taste her, he dropped his arm from her shoulder, grabbed her hand and led her toward the hotel bar.

  “Davies, you asshole!” a voice yelled from behind them.

  Mitch turned. Steve stalked toward them, his chest heaving. The two bodyguards cut off his approach, forcibly pushing at his shoulders to get him to back off.

  “You got me fired, you arrogant prick.”

  Alana gasped and he stepped forward to block her from view. He didn’t trust the glazed look in the man’s eyes.

  “Go home, Steve.”

  “Fuck you.” Steve spat on the floor and gave him the double bird.

  Mitch shook his head in disgust and turned his back, cupping Alana’s shoulder
to encourage her inside the bar.

  Before they stepped through the entryway, a shout from the guards made him tense. “Mitch!”

  On instinct, he shielded Alana’s back and propelled them forward. A large glass vase flew passed the side of his head, into the wall in front of them, hitting with a loud thwack. He jerked back as pieces of glass peppered his face leaving tiny bites of pain. His grip on Alana loosened, and she dropped to the floor. She whimpered, the soft sound dissolving his shock and sharpening his focus.

  “Alana, are you hurt?” He glanced down at her crumpled on her knees, her hair, shoulders, and back now covered with glistening shards of the shattered vase.

  His lungs tightened with each passing second that she didn’t respond. He dropped down behind her and winced at the stab of glass through his cargo pants. Hovering over her, he covered her body and glanced over his shoulder. His bodyguards were dragging Steve to the floor, their knees in his back.

  When the threat to their safety vanished, he moved in front of her, the broken glass crunching under his feet. He stared at the shaking hands covering her eyes, and his chest started to throb. The visible skin around her cheeks held tiny scratches with bright red blood. “Alana?”

  Still no response.

  He placed a hand on her forearm, and she jerked at the touch. Damn, what the hell should he do?

  “Sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong.” He picked pieces of glass from her hair and wiped them from her shoulders. Relief flooded him when she didn’t continue to flinch. He needed to keep himself busy otherwise the fractures in his panic would deepen, and he’d cause a bigger scene.

  Her breathing came in ragged pants. She pulled her hands an inch away from her face and lifted her gaze to look straight through him with rapidly blinking eyes. He supported her shoulders and tried to blow away the glitter of glass particles from her cheeks. The brush of his breath pulled another cry of pain from her throat and she covered her hands over her face again.

  “Christ.” He was useless, with no concept of what to do. “Alana, please, sweetheart. Tell me what’s wrong.” He’d tried to protect her and failed.

  “My eyes,” her voice broke.

  “Is she all right?” Mitch glanced at one of the male hotel staff who knelt beside them.

  She let out a sob. “I can’t see.”

  Pain slashed through Alana’s vision. Her reaction had come too slow when the heavy vase hit the wall mere inches in front of her. Glass had sliced her face and flown into her eyes. And her worst mistake had been rubbing them to try and dislodge the fragments.

  “She needs an ambulance.” Mitchell’s voice came from beside her, firm and demanding.

  She kept her eyes squeezed shut and reached out a hand to grasp his shirt. He responded immediately, pulling her into the protective warmth of his embrace.

  She couldn’t see.

  Whenever she opened her eyes, the burn of fire greeted her and everything came into view in a kaleidoscope of blurred images. Even the soft breeze of the air conditioner made her snap her lids shut again. If this was permanent, she wouldn’t be able to work, and she’d lose the limited independence she cherished.

  A snap of bright light came through the darkness. Once, twice, three times. She flinched with each burst of illumination.

  “Get those assholes out of here. And I want every photo destroyed!” Mitchell’s ferocious bark made her wince. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll get you out of here in a sec.” Both his arms cuddled her close, and she sunk further into the embrace. “Has someone called an ambulance?”

  “Umm, excuse me, Mr. Davies. If her eyes are the problem, she would be best to see an optometrist.” The man’s voice was young and filled with unease. “The hospitals aren’t equipped to handle complicated sight problems and usually only give the bare minimum care.”

  “Somehow I don’t think any optometrists will be open at—” Mitchell released his grip with one arm, “—one-thirty in the morning.”

  Alana listened to the exchange in silence, trying to slow her rampant breathing so she could think straight.

  “My mother’s an optometrist. I’m sure she’d be happy to meet with you, no matter the time.” The young man’s voice grew in strength, the confidence he held in his mother clearly shining through.

  Alana shook her head and clutched at Mitch’s shirt. She needed someone familiar to help her, someone she wouldn’t be ashamed to cry in front of, or apprehensive about clinging to.

  “I need Kate,” she whispered and cleared her dry throat. “Can you take me to her? She can help me wash my eyes. It might dislodge whatever is blurring my vision.”

  “Would washing them help?” Mitchell hadn’t directed the question to her.

  “I don’t think so. Not with tap water anyway.” The young stranger replied.

  Mitchell’s other arm came around to hold her again, pulling her tight. His concern vibrated from him, increasing her alarm.

  “Get her away from the gawking people and take her to find her friend. I’ll call my mom.”

  Mitchell’s head rubbed against her hair, as if he nodded in reply. “We’ll be in my suite. Call the room as soon as you find out.”

  His arms moved from around her back and the warmth from his chest faded. Strong hands encased her shoulders, supporting her on more than a physical level. “Are you all right with that, sweetheart?”

  She continued to squeeze her eyes shut, trying not to flutter her lids and aggravate the debris still in there. “Yes. Kate will be able to look after me.”

  The grip on her shoulders tightened. “I’ll take care of you.”

  She sucked in a breath, overwhelmed with…everything: his scent, his touch, his comfort. He placed a tender kiss on her forehead, and her control shattered. She let out a sob and squeezed her lids tighter. The burn of tears was excruciating. His kindness was too much.

  Men weren’t meant to be like this. They weren’t kind-hearted or gentle or protective. Especially not strangers…or so her mother had led her to believe.

  “I’m sorry. This is my fault. I knew seeing you again was too good to be true.”

  His anguish gave her the determination to be strong. Lifting her chin, she smiled and placed a hand on his chest, pressing against the hard muscle beneath. “It’s not your fault. At least I’ll have a great story to tell my friends back home.”

  Was it morally acceptable to tell a lie if part of the statement was true?

  She honestly didn’t believe the situation was his fault, but she would never tell her friends back home. If her mother found out, she would worry herself into a stroke. It didn’t matter how old Alana became, her mom never stopped treating her like a fragile piece of porcelain waiting to be broken by a man.

  Mitchell leaned in close and brushed his cheek against hers. “I hope by the time I let you go, you’ll have a far better story to tell.”

  Anticipation skittered over her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps which distracted her from the pain. She was falling for a man she didn’t know and couldn’t even see.

  He stepped back, and a slight sense of vertigo hit her mind. She wavered, wobbling in space. Within seconds his hands were back on her body, lifting her off the ground. She squealed as her arms flailed for something to grip. “What are you doing?”

  He began to walk, sure and certain, her weight not hindering him in the least. “I’m getting you upstairs.”

  Whispers passed her ears from people in the lobby while he cradled her in his arms, against his hard chest. He ignored her protests, and by the time they reached the elevator, she had relaxed and rested her hands around his neck.

  Slowly she opened her lids, hoping for some improvement to the coarse scratching in her eyes, but the discomfort and lack of vision hadn’t changed. Fear bubbled in her belly and she silently let out a long breath, needing to calm the anxiety which tried to regain hold.

  “I had an uncle whose eyes were damaged by hot metal shavings. He burned his eyelids and singed his brows as
well.” His voice came soft and sweet while the elevator ascended. “The damage seemed horrific at the time. I remember overhearing my parents say he would probably lose an eye or go blind.”

  Alana rubbed away the stray hair tickling her cheek. She didn’t want to become engrossed in a story that may have an ending which would break her heart.

  “A few weeks later he was fine.”

  She sighed in relief.

  “I was young at the time, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t have surgery either. So I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

  “I hope so,” she whispered and rested her head against his shoulder. Apart from helping out on her mother’s retreat, Alana captured breathtaking landscape images with her camera and sold them to a local art gallery. If she couldn’t see there would be no way for her to make extra money. She didn’t think there’d be much of a market for blind photographers.

  The elevator dinged its arrival, and she heard the soft swoosh of the doors opening. Mitchell walked forward, not once needing to reposition her in his arms.

  “You know my legs are still entirely functional, right?”

  He chuckled, and the deep masculine sound made her smile. “Yeah, I know. But how cool was it to act like the macho hero in front of everyone in the lobby when I gallantly rushed you into my arms?”

  She let out a bark of laughter and whacked him on the chest.

  “I’ve always wanted to be a gentleman. I’ve just never had the opportunity.”

  Alana couldn’t imagine him being anything but a gentleman. In the little time they’d spent together, he seemed genuine. Open. Trustworthy. All the traits her mother tried to convince her didn’t exist in a man.

  “Who knows, maybe I might knock Lynch off the popularity pedestal for a little while.”

  “Lynch?” She frowned, wishing she could see his eyes while they spoke.

  Another chuckle sounded. “You’re not a fan of Reckless Beat, are you?”

  She bit her lip, unsure if her honesty would upset him.