by Laurie Paige
Rory returned and slid in beside her. "Ah, that's much better."
"Did you ask them to turn the music down?"
"Yes. It was so loud a person couldn't think."
Warmth crept through her. "Thank you." A hand touched her hair, caressed her shoulder.
"Anything for my lady," he said in that husky tone he'd used before, the one that promised the world and the moon and the stars, all for her.
"Wine?" he asked.
"Yes, red, please."
He ordered a merlot for each of them, then the house steak specialty for himself. "Umm, delicious," he told her when the food arrived. "You like steak?"
"Yes."
"Open up."
"That's okay—"
A morsel of meat was expertly placed in her mouth. She chewed and swallowed. "I have to admit, that's better than the TV dinner I had earlier."
He chuckled. "How do you like your baked potato, with everything?"
"Yes. Lots of sour cream."
"You got it."
"But really—"
"Yes, really," he murmured before she could protest. "I like sharing with you."
His presence was like a force field along her right side. She slid into the corner of the booth, separating them as much as possible. "This isn't a good thing."
"I beg to differ. It's very good. Open up."
She gave up arguing, and he continued to feed her as he ate. The act was so intimate, his voice so sexy, his attention so focused, she felt they were nearly making love right there in public. Inside, she went all warm and shaky and apprehensive.
He ordered the mud pie for dessert. She recalled that it was huge, enough for three or four people.
"Open," he murmured.
She did.
He placed a spoonful of cool ice cream and warm chocolate sauce on her tongue. She felt a drip on her chin. Before she could wipe it off, he did it for her.
"You should go into child care," she quipped, trying to dispel the sensuous mood. "You'd be good at it."
"I plan to. I want kids, don't you?"
She blinked, stunned by the announcement, then she thought of him surrounded by children, playing with them, teaching them to care for their pets, of them helping him tend injured wildlife.
"Don't you?" he asked again, more insistent this time.
"I – I plan to work with children and their families when I get my license."
"But what about a family of your own?"
"Do you think that will happen?" she demanded, the anger breaking through as pain shredded her heart. "Who would want a…" she forced herself to say it "…a blind person?"
He moved close, his thigh against hers, hemming her into the corner. "Me. I want you."
She tried to breathe evenly. It was impossible. She managed a disdainful laugh. "Yes, but we've already established that you're weird."
"Crazy," he corrected softly. "As in – crazy for you."
He laughed and moved back, giving her space to breathe again. She took a ragged breath. "Are you finished? I'm tired. I'd like to go home."
He called for the check. On the ride home, she stayed close to the door on her side of the bench seat. Another person could easily have sat in the space between them.
When he stopped, she heard the sound of a garage door going up. They were at his house. She tensed. He led her into the house through the room she remembered was a pantry and into the kitchen.
"I'll make some coffee," he said.
"None for me. I'm going home."
He was in her face in an instant, his hands on her upper arms. "Stay."
The word was a demand, but it wasn't harsh. Beneath it ran an undercurrent, almost like a plea. Tremors rushed through her. She felt caught in a torrent of desire and painful need that was more than passion.
"I can't," she whispered. "Please. I can't."
He caressed her shoulders, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs. "You're frightened. Why?"
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "It's too confusing to explain."
Silence pulsated between them. She waited, expecting his lips to descend on hers at any second. But at last he sighed and stepped back. "I'll walk you home."
"That isn't necessary."
"Yeah, it is, lady cop."
She let him escort her from his door to hers. He saw her safely inside, told her to lock the door and left.
Alone, she leaned against the counter and wrapped her arms across her chest, feeling spent and yet restless. With the perversity of human nature, she now wished she'd stayed with him.
All night?
Yes. Yes!
She closed her eyes in despair. She was afraid she was very close to doing the one thing she'd vowed not to do – fall in love with her handsome neighbor.
* * *
Shannon opened her eyes and stared into the darkness. What had jarred her out of a sound sleep?
She listened intently. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. She knew that sound. It was the truck with the uneven beat, the one belonging to the stranger who had stopped by twice that week. She hardly dared breathe as she heard it cruise past her house, going very slowly.
Then it stopped.
Clutching the comforter to her breast, she waited to hear the truck move on toward town. But there was no sound at all. He'd killed the engine.
Less than a tenth of a mile down the road was a pull-off and a snow shelter for kids who had to wait for the school bus. It sounded as if he'd stopped there. Why?
To come back and break into her house?
A blind woman alone would be easy prey, whether the intent was robbery … or worse.
The clock in the living room played its preliminary melody, then struck the hour. One o'clock.
Without waiting another second, she slid out of bed. Grabbing her dark blue robe – a good camouflage color for going out into the night – she slipped it on while gliding soundlessly down the hall. In the kitchen, she pulled on her insulated boots, then eased out the back door.
Fear clawed at her neck as she sped down the snowy path. At any moment she expected to be grabbed from behind and forced back into the house. Knees stiff, she crossed the icy bridge without a sound, then raced to Rory's door.
She found it unlocked. As soon as she was inside, she clicked the dead bolt into place, then fled along the hall, her hands touching each wall until she came to a doorway. She went inside the room.
"Rory?" she said softly, as if the stranger might hear and barge in and shoot them on the spot.
"What? Shannon? What is it?"
"Someone stopped on the road, down by the snow shelter, I think. It … it frightened me."
A flash of light made her blink. She realized she'd forgotten her glasses. As if that mattered.
Rory threw the covers off, paused, then shrugged. It wasn't as if he were flaunting himself in front of Shannon. Although she stood in his bedroom, her eyes wide and dark with apprehension, he knew she couldn't see the reaction of his body to her presence at … five after one in the morning, he noted on the digital clock.
Realizing his bedside light could be seen from her bedroom, he clicked off the lamp and grabbed the dark gray sweats he'd left on the floor. "I'll check it out," he told Shannon, throwing on the clothing and some socks.
"No, don't go out. He has a gun."
"How do you know?"
She shook her head. "I know he's the robber who shot me. I can't prove it, but I know it. He's armed and dangerous. Call the sheriff's office – wait!"
"What?"
She held up a hand, turning her head slightly to catch the sound. "He's leaving. He's heading for town."
"Okay. I'll let the sheriff know."
Rory picked up the phone by the bed and dialed the dispatcher. He reported someone had stopped by Shannon's house and was now on the road back to town. No, he didn't want the guy picked up – he hadn't done anything – but Rory wanted a license plate number, if possible, for Jess to check out. H
e hung up and turned on the light again.
Shannon stared toward the light, her hands in the pockets of the blue robe, a worried frown on her face. The collar of her pink pajamas was visible at the neck of the robe. She looked enticingly disheveled. His body went rigid.
Nothing unusual in that. It happened at the mere thought of her, not to mention what actually seeing her did, especially at this hour and in her nightclothes.
"Come on. We could use that coffee. I'll make some decaf. I even have pastries I was planning to bring over to your place in the morning. Thoughtful, huh?"
"Yes."
She sounded uncertain, causing him to smile. Yeah, he knew what it was to be unsure around a person of the opposite sex, although it wasn't something he'd experienced in a long while.
In the kitchen, he put on the coffee, then placed chocolate éclairs on two plates and warmed them for a few seconds in the microwave. "Here we go," he said with fake cheer as he placed them on the table.
He poured the coffee when the maker stopped gurgling and joined his guest at the table. Neither of them was hungry, although he had to give her credit for trying a couple of bites, then she laid the pastry on the plate, pushed it aside and leaned her forehead against her hands.
"I hate this, hate this, hate this," she said.
He swallowed the bite that seemed to grow bigger as he chewed. He wanted to comfort her, but wasn't sure that was what she needed. Or if he could stop at that.
"It's tough," he agreed.
"Sometimes I think it's over, that I'm going to be able to see … like the light in your room when you turned it on. It seemed as if I could see it, but then everything goes dark again."
Rory couldn't stand the despair in the slump of her shoulders. He went to her. "I know, darling," he murmured and lifted her into his arms.
She turned her face to him, a question in her beautiful eyes. He wondered how, without sight, she seemed able to peer into his soul.
"You'll spend the rest of the night here," he told her, preparing for an argument.
After a tense second, she nodded.
He carried her to his room. "This is the only bed in the house. Don't worry. You'll be safe in it."
"I wasn't worried."
She touched his jaw with one hand, then lightly traced her fingertips over his face. He set her on the bed and backed off.
"Where are you?" she asked, sounding distressed.
"I'll be on the sofa. If you need anything, just yell."
"I want you … to stay."
The words were spoken so softly he barely heard them. "I can't," he said lightly. "I can't make promises on your safety if I do."
"Stay."
The word was a plea. He closed his eyes and tried to think of noble things – honor and all that. It didn't work. He took a step forward. A hand touched his thigh. He opened his eyes as she slipped both hands around his waist and leaned her head against his stomach. She moved her hands slowly up and down his back under the sweatshirt.
"I can't promise a platonic night if you keep that up."
Without a word, she slipped off her boots, then stood and removed the robe. His heart kicked into overdrive. She paused, her head tilted as if she listened for his movements. Her hands went to the buttons that ran down the front of the pajamas.
"Let me," he requested, his voice deeper as sexual need overrode scruples and all that baggage.
She dropped her hands to her sides, inviting him to finish the task. He was glad she couldn't see how his fingers trembled as he did. He pushed the fabric off her shoulders and tossed the top on a chair.
"Wait," he said, although she didn't move. He threw his sweat suit on the chair, then yanked his socks off. He noted her bare feet. "Now," he murmured and caught his thumbs in the waistband of her pajama bottoms. They slid easily down her slender hips and settled in a puddle on the floor. She stepped out of them.
Then she lifted her arms to him.
It was more than a mortal man could resist, and he had never claimed to be a saint. He stepped forward and felt her heat all along his body.
The words wouldn't be suppressed. "You're beautiful," he said, "so beautiful, it takes my breath away."
"That was a song," she said softly, pressing her lips to his neck and causing lightning to flash into every part of him.
Before he moved to the bed, he made one more attempt at fair play. "Will you have regrets in the morning?"
She kissed along his collarbone. "I don't know. I guess we won't know until the sun comes up, will we?" she asked with perfect logic. "And by then it won't matter."
A shudder went through him. "No," he said and, letting her go, stepped back. "It's no deal. I won't exchange safety for sex."
He clenched his fists instead of reaching for her when he saw tears spring into her eyes. Her cheeks flushed deep red. He realized she was humiliated.
"I'm sorry," she said hoarsely. "I shouldn't have … of course you don't want … I'm sorry…" She gestured helplessly. "My clothes. Could you give them to me?"
There was no way he could leave it at that. With a groan he gathered her into his arms. "Little fool. Of course I want you. I don't sleep nights for dreaming of you. No moment of the day passes without thoughts of you. Dammit, I'm trying to be honorable toward you. You're vulnerable, and I shouldn't take advantage of that, but if you want me, then … I won't say no."
He dried the tears clinging to her lashes with his lips, then he moved softly down her face to her mouth. Her lips trembled under his as he touched them, then her arms slipped around his shoulders as she arched against him.
The last of his scruples fell away. Her touch ignited a need that wouldn't, couldn't be denied. Reasoning didn't even enter into the equation.
With a twist, he fell to the bed, taking her weight as she came down with him. Rolling to one side, he slipped a hand under her hair and held her head in position to deepen the kiss.
For a long time he only kissed her and caressed lightly along her back. Finally he had to have more or he'd explode with the force of his need for her. He slid his hands along her hips and stroked her buttocks, then the back of her thighs. He kissed her breasts and explored the texture of her delicately pink nipples. When he touched her leg and applied the gentlest pressure, she shifted it to one side, granting him access to all of her.
Shannon had never known passion could be so totally engrossing. The world narrowed to his room, his bed, the places where he caressed. Bright veils of red and blue flashed through her mental vision like magical draperies controlled by a genie.
When he touched her most intimately, she nearly cried out as sensation climbed to dangerously high levels.
"Please," she said, not sure what she was asking. "Please. Oh, yes!" she said on a moan of pleasure as he coaxed her toward the peak. "Rory, I need … I want you… Now, please. Now."
"Wait," Rory whispered hoarsely and rolled away from her. He was near the edge. So was she. He fumbled in the bedside drawer and found one of the condoms he'd recently bought. Just in case. Yeah, right.
He quickly rolled it on and turned back to her. Her pupils were dilated with passion, and her eyes gleamed in the dim light from the lamp. A flush spread upward from her breasts to her cheeks. She once again reminded him of the confident young woman who had caught his attention on the street not long ago.
"How could I have taken so long to notice you?" he asked. "I was the blind one. Or stupid." He chuckled as he ran a fingertip from her forehead, over her nose, then down to the dewy valley between her breasts. "You are the most incredibly beautiful woman I've ever seen."
Shannon pressed fervent kisses on his throat and chest. Her incoherent thoughts flew to her tongue. "You make me feel that way. Beautiful. Sexy. Hot. Cold. Frightened."
He tipped her chin up with a hooked finger. "You don't ever have to be afraid of me," he told her fiercely. "Don't you know I'd do anything to keep you safe? Anything," he said, feeling humble and courageous at the same time.
> She stirred too many things in him, this woman with her stubborn independence and her distrust of others that she seemed unaware of. He wanted to show her more than pleasure. He wanted … too many things. He couldn't begin to enumerate them.
"I know. I think I know," Shannon amended with a little confused shake of her head.
She didn't want words, not now. She wanted only him and all the things they made each other feel. When she touched him as intimately as he was touching her, he tensed, then bucked against her as she stroked up and down, driving him to the same madness as he did her. She carefully gathered the soft pouch in one hand and caressed it, then stroked the skin in back and front.
He rolled over her, taking his weight on his arms. She held her breath as he moved gently against her, ever so slowly pressing more deeply. He slid against her so that she was further aroused with each stroke. Her hips arced upward to meet each thrust as the need grew.
Rory knew the moment had come when he could take no more. He had to know all of her, every last sweet inch. She was moist and ready for him, her every move designed to drive him insane. He was nearly there.
With his last ounce of control, he rose and positioned himself, then slowly let gravity do the rest, sinking into her warm, womanly depths until they were completely merged at last. "Don't move," he warned.
"I want movement," she explained, so earnestly he nearly smiled. But then she thrust upward with a little twist that wrung a gasp from him. "I need more … more."
Everything faded into a red haze. He slid a hand between them and caressed her until she went wild beneath him. When her ecstatic little cries faded to panting breaths, he let himself go, thrusting again and again until he was both sated and drained. And even then, he didn't want to stop.
Shannon felt his contractions deep within her own body, a strange, marvelous sensation that joined with the aftershocks of pleasure that surprised her as he continued to move deeply in her. When he was still, she sighed and lightly rubbed his back and shoulders.
"It was too marvelous," she said after a wonder-filled moment of contemplation. "I don't want it to end."