Heartbreaker (The Warriors)

by Laura Taylor

  "You were wrong before, Micah," she told him in a too solemn voice. "I can’t rescue you or anyone else. So save yourself, because you’ll have to live with the consequences if you don’t."

  As he stood there and listened to her footsteps fade to silence, he sensed a wealth of unexpressed emotion in her words, but only after he worked beyond her assertion that he was wallowing in self–pity. What had begun as a forced trip to Saint Thomas had graduated to a battle royale between two strong–willed people.

  Micah felt as if he’d gone to war without any weapons, although his gut instinct insisted that he’d struck a nerve with Bliss. Beneath her determination he’d discovered tremendous vulnerability and a tumultuous undercurrent of passion—passion she obviously felt compelled to control. Her control had slipped, though, revealing a side of her that amazed, seduced, and was destined to torment him.

  He realized that he’d finally honored his vow to repay her for making him feel so vulnerable. Instead of experiencing triumph or satisfaction, he felt like a jerk for pushing her so hard.

  As he made his way into his suite, Micah promised himself that he would prove to Bliss he was worth trusting as a lover. For the first time since the terrorist attack in Central America, he felt committed to embracing the challenges posed by his lack of vision. It finally occurred to him that his blindness, whether temporary or destined to be permanent, hadn’t prevented Bliss from being attracted to him or from responding to him, and he wasn’t going to let it prevent him from making her his.

  ** ** **

  In the tension–filled days that followed, Bliss felt as though she was dangling from an emotional precipice. She constantly struggled to control her deepening feelings for Micah, but even she came to recognize the futility of the endeavor. She didn’t mention their passionate encounter, and neither did he, but it remained a constant in her thoughts. Although she refused to hide from him, she carefully guarded her emotions during their hours together. The woman who excelled at polished aloofness emerged.

  Despite his impatience and frustration with his situation, she sensed a subtle change in Micah’s attitude. She employed it as she encouraged him to convert the senses he’d carefully honed in his work with Naval Intelligence to meet his current needs. Even though he remained reserved and kept his distance from her whenever possible, he cooperated with her efforts to help him regain his independence.

  She taught him a color–coding system for his clothing, and saw an immediate rise in his confidence. When he admitted that he’d been an avid reader, she provided him with a supply of downloaded audio books. She also insisted that he accompany her to a board meeting of the island’s school for the blind. Although he said little about it, Bliss knew the experience made a profound impression on him, especially when she introduced him to several young students who participated on the school’s track team.

  She initiated a policy of reading aloud to him the parts of the newspaper Micah particularly enjoyed. She also gave him a beginner’s primer for the Braille alphabet and provided emotional support as he came to grips with the shocking reminder that he might never regain his vision.

  Bliss insisted that Micah become acquainted with the various paths that covered the grounds of the sprawling estate, as well as the three–mile–long stretch of beachfront. She reminded him that he needed exercise, and her reward arrived a week later when she spotted him jogging the length of the beach after carefully inspecting the area with the walking stick. Even the security personnel guarding the estate noticed Micah’s progress and commented on it when they spoke to Bliss.

  She spent time in her studio each afternoon, her sculpting an outlet to express her feelings for Micah. When they were together, she encouraged, cajoled, and refused to take no for answer. When she was alone, she prayed for the strength not to lose control of her emotions. Despite her valiant efforts, she fell deeply and helplessly in love with the courageous and very complex Micah Holbrook.

  Dr. Chalmers visited every other morning, but he confined his medical observations to the reports he conveyed by phone to his patient’s doctors in Washington. For his part, Micah volunteered nothing about the examinations to Bliss. His tension on the heels of those encounters spoke volumes, however.

  Emotionally stretched to the limit following the often–tense hours she spent with Micah, Bliss returned to her suite each night exhausted but too sexually aroused to sleep well. She paced her bedroom far into the night. When she finally slept, her dreams were filled with images so erotic, she frequently wakened trembling, drenched in perspiration, and acutely aware that Micah restlessly paced the patio just beyond the closed French doors of her room. She longed to go to him, but she managed to exert all the force of her considerable will to refrain from doing so.

  By Micah’s tenth day at the estate, Bliss reverted to monitoring his progress as he perfected the skills she’d shared with him. He never acknowledged her efforts. She never questioned his motivation, which she privately assumed was a combination of pride and anger. In truth, she felt gratified by his new attitude, as well as the concentration and commitment he brought to relearning tasks he’d once taken for granted.

  On that same day, Bliss stopped pretending that she wasn’t in love with Micah Holbrook. She was, and she knew she needed to acknowledge and deal with her feelings, because they weren’t going to disappear anytime soon. If ever.

  And when she thought about what her life would be like once he left the estate, it was all she could do not to sink into a self–pitying heap on the floor of her studio. Her inner strength would eventually kick in, however, and she would resume her efforts to assure his future independence if his vision was never restored. There would be plenty of time later for her to grieve in private.

  6

  It was well after midnight a few evenings later when Bliss settled into the wicker swing on the patio she shared with Micah. She savored her privacy now that everyone, except the security guards patrolling the perimeter of the estate, had retired for the night.

  Closing her eyes, Bliss concentrated on clearing away the emotional debris that littered the landscape of her mind. She needed to relax. Otherwise, she would never get even a few hours of sleep.

  She rocked back and forth, and the gentle swaying motion of the swing eventually lessened some of the tension that had driven her from her bed. Bliss took pleasure in the silence of the calm night and the balmy breeze that flowed across her nightgown–clad body, although the scented air served to sensitize her skin even more than usual.

  After a while she brought her slender legs up and wrapped her arms around them. Resting her chin on her upraised knees, she stared up at the star–studded sky. She’d already accepted that her desire and love for Micah would remain a constant within her well beyond his departure. He still symbolized all of the fantasies she’d ever had about love and being loved by the right man, fantasies she’d nurtured since their first encounter in the U.K. eleven long years ago.

  She sighed, the melancholy sound blending with the breeze whispering around her. Unable to stop herself, Bliss shifted her gaze to the closed French doors that led to Micah’s suite.

  She pondered her efforts to dismiss him from her thoughts in recent days. Because she loved him, she invariably failed. She felt as though he occupied every corner of her world. Each night she spent alone in her bed felt like an endurance test. She began each day in a state of emotional fatigue, knowing that only Micah, a man she knew she couldn’t claim for herself, could ever satisfy her soul–deep hunger for love.

  Even though she sought refuge in the privacy of her studio every afternoon, he dominated her thoughts.

  The artist in her had finally seized control, forcing her to express the complexity of her emotions. She employed her talent in sculpting a bust of Micah that quickly came to life beneath her nimble fingers. Although it was nearly complete, Bliss couldn’t bring herself to put the finishing touches on the work. She didn’t want the process to end, any more than she wanted Mica
h to leave the estate.

  Instead, she behaved like a woman possessed as she devoted herself to refining the sculpture. She made love to Micah each time she lost herself in the clay, abandoning in the process the restraint she manifested whenever they were together.

  She allowed her emotions and her passion for him to rule her creative universe. The end result possessed a vitality that even she had failed to anticipate. Micah seemed to live and breathe beneath her fingertips, his rugged masculinity and courage as he confronted and overcame his fear of being permanently sightless reflected in the sculpture she’d created.

  Bliss realized that she’d also captured his power over her. It had finally occurred to her that Micah Holbrook wasn’t simply her ultimate fantasy; he was her ultimate terror, her very own heartbreaker, even if he didn’t know it. He possessed the ability to shatter her dreams.

  Bliss froze when the doors to Micah’s suite suddenly opened. He stepped out onto the patio, his newly reclaimed self–confidence evident in his unhesitating stride and his posture as he approached her. She felt her pulse speed up as he drew nearer.

  She shivered, then held her breath when he paused in front of her. Unable to stop herself, she let her gaze sweep across the moon–washed glory of his broad shoulders and muscular upper torso. The golden pelt that covered his chest, then narrowed to disappear beneath the waistband of the black silk pajama bottoms he wore, made her fingers tingle. His belly, which reminded her of a slab of sculpted stone, invited more than a visual inspection, as did his narrow hips and powerful legs.

  She clenched her hands into tight fists. Her craving to touch him, to sink her fingers into that dense chest hair and then explore at her leisure the warmth and vitality of his entire body, nearly overwhelmed her. Sucking in enough air to fill her burning lungs, she dragged her greedy gaze up to the hard lines of his face.

  Micah angled his head slightly. Bliss sensed he was trying to read her mood, and a part of her rejoiced at his willingness to use his intuition to his best advantage. Even though she knew she should speak to him, she didn’t. Her heart felt wedged in her throat. She feared revealing her hunger for Micah, just as she feared making a fool of herself over him. For the first time since his arrival, she lacked the strength to put his needs before her own.

  "Am I disturbing you, Bliss?"

  "No," she whispered. When he didn’t say anything else, she sensed that he was waiting for an invitation. "Join me if you’d like. It’s very peaceful out here tonight."

  As he sat down beside her, she hoped her voice hadn’t betrayed her inner tension, but she suspected it had. Micah reached out. Bliss caught his hand before he encountered her naked thigh and discovered that she wore nothing more than a gauzy silk nightgown.

  "What’s wrong?" he asked as he casually wove their fingers together.

  His touch sent a faint tremor of response through her body. "Nothing."

  "You don’t usually deny the obvious."

  "I’m not denying anything," she insisted, thinking how pathetic she would sound to him if she admitted that he was the reason she couldn’t sleep.

  "It’s late. I’m usually the one who’s restless at this hour of the night."

  "I’m not restless."

  "Then why aren’t you in bed?"

  "It was… too warm in my room."

  "Try again," he suggested, patience and faint humor resonating in his low voice.

  "Alright," she conceded. "I’m restless."

  "That’s better."

  She smiled and began to relax.

  "Some people think I’m a good listener when they need to talk."

  "It’s personal. I’ll work it out, but thank you for offering to help." Although startled by the ease with which he slipped his arm around her shoulders, she welcomed what she knew he considered casual contact and didn’t try to shift away from him.

  "It’s no wonder you don’t want to talk to me. I’ve been more than a little self–involved lately, haven’t I?"

  She indulged in the luxury of settling in against his large body and resting her head against his shoulder. "It goes with the territory, but you’re forgiven. You’ve had a lot to deal with the last few weeks."

  "I’m still dealing," he admitted. "And I’ll have a lot more to learn if the surgery fails."

  Pleased that he could now admit aloud the reality he faced, she nearly succumbed to the urge to applaud the strides he’d made in the last few weeks. "It’s a daily process, Micah, but I’m certain you’ll make it over all of the hurdles as long as you give yourself the time you need."

  "You’ve been very generous with your patience. Most people would have given up on me and sent me packing."

  She didn’t like the direction of his comments. "Let’s save the testimonials for another time. I did what I wanted to do. Nothing more, nothing less." Liar, her conscience taunted. You haven’t done one tenth of what you want to do with this man.

  "Your faith in people amazes me some of the time."

  "Why? I’ve always believed in the strength of the human spirit. I guess it’s kind of a religion with me. In your case, it wasn’t so much my having faith as it was reminding you to look inward and trust yourself."

  "You make it sound so simple, but we both know it wasn’t and still isn’t."

  "At the risk of repeating a time–worn cliché, nothing worth achieving is simple," Bliss remarked. "You just needed the right tools and a friend with the personality of a drill sergeant."

  He laughed at that. She savored the low, rumbling sound, and she realized just how easily she could become accustomed to having Micah in her life.

  "You’re not like any drill sergeant I’ve ever met."

  "That’ll be our secret." Humor edged into her voice before she could stop it.

  "This is the first time you’ve really let your guard down with me. Why?"

  Torn between blurting out the truth or indulging in some form of subterfuge that might protect her, she glanced up at him. After a long moment, she exhaled softly. "Honestly?"

  He nodded. "Honestly."

  "You were right before. I’m attracted to you." She saw him flinch as though she’d struck him, but she forged ahead anyway. "I knew I couldn’t risk letting my feelings get in the way of what you needed to accomplish during your stay at Rowland House. It would have softened my attitude and clouded my judgment, and I wouldn’t have pushed you as hard as you needed to be pushed, especially at the beginning. I also didn’t want to get involved in a casual affair. You have a life to go back to, and I’ve already told you how I feel about being used as a sexual safety net. That kind of relationship is too painful when it’s over."

  "Are you always this honest?" he asked quietly.

  She sighed. She knew her candor often made most people, especially men, think she was terribly naïve. "Yes, although not everyone appreciates it."

  "I’d forgotten that there were women like you in the world."

  Fools? she almost asked, but she managed not to make a complete idiot of herself. Instead, she settled for a neutral, "Oh?"

  "That’s why there hasn’t been a woman in my life for a long time."

  "Oh."

  "I’m starting to hear an echo."

  She poked him in the ribs, and then had trouble bringing her hand back to her lap where it belonged. Just the thought of exploring his body with her fingertips, and then following the same path with a string of hot, open–mouthed kisses, seduced both her imagination and her senses. "Be nice," she chided.

  "Talk to me about London."

  "Why?"

  "I want to remember you."

  "I’ve already told you there isn’t much to remember."

  "Don’t hedge. You don’t have to protect yourself or hide from me." Micah tucked her even closer, his arm snugging her against him so that she felt forged to him. "There was a time when I first got here that I would have used any weapon you provided as a means of hurting you, but I don’t feel that way any longer."

  Bliss und
erstood his meaning. She had provoked him during their earlier days together in order to penetrate his self–pity. At the time she’d suspected he would enjoy exacting a large penance from her, but she believed him now when he said he no longer felt that way.

  "You were very kind to me in London."

  "Don’t kid yourself, Bliss. We both know I’m not a kind man. I’ve made it this far by being a manipulative, bullheaded son of a…"

  "You saved my life," she said in a rush. "One minute I was standing in a dress shop near a train station a few blocks from Harrods, and in the next I was buried under rubble, surrounded by dead and dying people, and a fire blazed all around me. I expected to die, but I didn’t… because of you. I thought you were a living, breathing miracle when you pulled me out of that place and then got me to a hospital."

  "Christ! The IRA terrorist bombing. That was you?"

  "Yes, that was me. I didn’t think there was any point in bringing it up, though. It’s probably just as well you didn’t remember me."

  He frowned. "Why?"

  She nearly groaned in exasperation. "You’re actually going to make me say it, aren’t you?"

  "I don’t understand."

  He obviously didn’t, she realized. "I developed an instant and excruciating crush on you, and I couldn’t have been at all subtle about it. Why remind you of my previous immature behavior during your current stay?"

  "I remember a big–eyed little girl who refused to speak to me. Getting you to talk was like pulling teeth. What I couldn’t get over was how brave you were for someone so young."

  She smiled. "I was a mouse, and I was scared witless. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before. I knew by your uniform that you were an American, so I felt safe with you."

  "I rode in the ambulance to the hospital with you," he recalled. "At first I thought you were in shock, because you wouldn’t stop staring at me."