Playing the Part

by Darcy Daniel

  But to go further would mean another kiss, a kiss that would lead to more intimacy. And although her body screamed for just that, she had to put a stop to it. This was Cole’s first kiss. It shouldn’t be more than that.

  Slowly, she lifted her mouth from his soft lips, let her hand trail off his chest and stepped away. She studied his face, watched his eyes blink open, almost as if he were stunned. She hoped so, because that was exactly how she felt. Completely and utterly floored by the effect of that lingering, closed-mouth kiss.

  And then he smiled, a smile she’d never seen on him before. A smile of amazement and delight.

  She pressed a hand to her chest, only slightly aware that she was grinning too.

  Then his smile slipped, giving way to a frown. On the table, his hand curled into a fist. He rose abruptly and marched through the doorway. Meg trotted after him.

  “What’s wrong?” she yelled after him.

  “You were right!” he called as the screen door slapped shut.

  “Right about what?”

  But his footsteps were already thumping on the veranda steps.

  Anthea sank into a chair and let her head fall into her hands. How could she go from arousal to humiliation in a matter of seconds? His meaning was obvious.

  Although the opposite was true for her, apparently for Cole, the reality of being kissed had been a major letdown compared to the fantasy he must have imagined hundreds of times.

  * * *

  Striding into the field, Cole tried to will his heart to slow before it flew from of his chest and took off. But that seemed about as successful as willing the tightness in his work pants to settle.

  When he reached the wheelbarrow, he wrenched the shovel free and moved along the plowed row. Behind him, Meg whined.

  “Don’t you dare say a word.” He didn’t need Meg telling him his whole damn plan had totally backfired.

  How Anthea had twisted it around on him and made him feel like that nervous little schoolboy again, was beyond him.

  But that kiss, those lips, so soft and warm, so sweet and pliable. Damn, thoughts like that weren’t helping the situation in his pants whatsoever.

  When he’d thought about asking her to kiss him, he imagined she’d totally reject the idea. Either that or she’d probably just give him a quick peck to get it over and done with as fast as possible.

  But then she’d gone and discovered the truth about him, and he’d wanted to melt into the floor. A virgin at thirty. How pathetic. Yet she hadn’t made him feel that way. And when she told him she’d never been kissed the way she wanted to be, well, how could he not wonder what she meant by that?

  Then she’d shown him. A kiss that left him breathless. And just when he thought it was over, she kissed him again. The second time, he knew exactly what she wanted. He followed her lead and it felt so right, so natural. He’d had no idea if he even knew how to kiss a woman, not until she made that tiny little sound in her throat. That’s when he knew he wasn’t a complete loser. Instinct could be a wonderful thing.

  Shaking his head, he tried to focus on what he should be doing. He found the last sapling he planted, moved on a few strides and speared the shovel into the earth.

  Just as he did, an intense flash of light flared before him. Excruciating pain pierced his eyes, bringing him to his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his palms against them, and groaned as breath blasted from his mouth.

  Meg nudged his arm and whimpered. And then the pain was gone.

  Keeping his eyes closed, he eased his hands away from his face. Instead of the usual blackness, an orange glow appeared. He trembled as his heart thudded against his rib cage. What was happening?

  Terrified of the truth, but knowing he had to face it, Cole opened his eyes to mere slits. Light and pain burst in at him, and he forced them shut again. The orange glow remained.

  For twenty years he’d been in complete darkness, so what the hell was happening?

  As he knelt in the dirt, he remembered the psychiatrist his grandparents had made him see when he first lost his sight. The psychiatrist he refused to talk to. What had the man said? Something about letting go of the pain…something about—

  And then, just as quickly as the light had appeared, it vanished.

  He cautiously opened his eyes again. A black void of nothingness greeted him. He sighed with relief.

  By the time he started planting again, he’d convinced himself that he imagined the whole thing.

  Chapter Eight

  Hoping to give Cole enough time to get over his bad mood, Anthea cleared the lunch dishes away before heading outside, slipping on the gumboots and setting off for the field.

  When she trudged over to Cole, she tried to lighten the mood by saying in her deepest voice, “Okay, boss. I’m ready to start that research.”

  Cole stopped digging, faced her and grinned. She smiled. His grumpiness seemed to have dissipated.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  Her smile slipped. “My manly voice.”

  “Best to keep your mouth shut if anyone turns up. Gloves are in the barrow.”

  Cole showed her how far apart to dig the holes while he followed and planted the saplings. When she tired, he took the shovel and they swapped jobs until a van turned into the driveway.

  “Sounds like Tom,” Cole said. “Here’s your chance to see how good your acting skills are.”

  Eager to have a break and escape the heat, Anthea pulled the Akubra lower on her head and navigated the planted rows.

  She met Tom in front of the house. A burly man in his fifties, he opened the van’s rear doors and grinned at her.

  “Hiya. You Cole’s new farmhand?”

  Hot, sweaty and exhausted, Anthea nodded, remembering Cole’s comment about keeping her mouth shut. She watched as Tom hauled a large hessian sack from the rear of the van.

  “Got some spuds for them church ladies to pick up. Here ya go.” Tom effortlessly carried the hessian sack over and dropped it into her outstretched arms.

  Unprepared for the weight, she toppled forward, sprawling in the dirt. Shooting to her feet, her face burning with embarrassment, Anthea made sure her hat was still secure.

  “Crickey, boy. You best get some meat on them bones.”

  Trying to act tough, she nodded, grabbed the top of the potato sack and dragged it toward the veranda steps. This was nowhere near as easy as she’d thought it would be. Had Tom known she was a woman, he’d be pushing her aside and dealing with the potatoes himself. But from the way he just stood there and watched, she understood that guys didn’t do things like that for each other.

  Panting, she hauled the sack up one step at a time. Just as she reached the final step, it ripped. Potatoes tumbled everywhere.

  “Make sure ya get `em all,” Tom said. “I’m gonna go catch up with Cole.”

  Anthea sank onto the steps and tried to stop her bottom lip from quivering. She could do this. Her days of complaining and having everything handed to her were over. She refused to cry.

  She gathered the scattered potatoes and noticed a few behind the steps. She took a deep breath, lowered herself to her hands and knees and crawled beneath the narrow space.

  When her hat caught on a spiderweb, she told herself to ignore it. And she did, until a small spider suddenly dangled in front of her face. She screamed and scrambled out of the crawl space.

  Like a lunatic, she frantically danced about, swept the spider from the brim of her hat and brushed herself off.

  Embarrassed beyond belief, she glanced at Cole, standing with Tom in the field. She couldn’t be certain because of the distance, but it seemed like Tom was laughing at her and telling Cole all about it.

  Once Tom had left, Anthea joined Cole in the field. Much to her relief, he didn’t say
a word about anything Tom might have said.

  A few days later, with the weather soaring to almost forty degrees, they broke for lunch. Anthea rushed to the bathroom and stripped off the Akubra hat and flannel shirt. She reached under her T-shirt and pulled the Spanx down to her waist. Although they weren’t uncomfortable over her breasts, the garment did exert a certain pressure and it felt good to find some release. As the cool air rushed over her skin, she undid her tight bun and shook her hair out. At the sink she washed her hands, bent over and scooped deliciously cold water onto her face.

  In the kitchen, Cole offered to help make sandwiches, the same as she’d been making every day, he insisted, since they were so delicious.

  Chuffed by this tiny bit of praise instead of the usual criticism, she enjoyed the easy rhythm in which they moved around the kitchen and each other as they prepared lunch.

  Not long after they were seated, Cole tilted his head. “That’ll be Mike.”

  Anthea frowned. What was he talking about? “Who?”

  Cole stood and headed toward the doorway. “Grocery guy. Come on.”

  She hadn’t heard a thing, but as she rose from the table, a car door slammed. Looking at herself, she realized she couldn’t meet anyone without her disguise.

  So she fled.

  * * *

  Cole helped Mike carry a few grocery bags into the kitchen. At sixty, Mike had been delivering the groceries for as long as Cole could remember.

  Always eager for a chat, Mike said, “Nice outfit.”

  Cole frowned. “Sorry?”

  “That pretty pink shirt you’re wearin’.”

  His face flushed. He remembered how proud Anthea had been about doing the laundry all on her own without anyone asking. But she’d conveniently failed to mention the new color of his formerly white shirts.

  He heard Mike chuckle and move so close their shoulders brushed. In a whisper, he said, “Doc told me you got you know who here doin’ some research or somethin’ as a farmhand.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Cole said, and felt Mike move away again.

  “So, what should I call him?”

  Cole had already thought about that. “Anthony.”

  “Right. So, where is he then?”

  Good question. Where had she disappeared to? He knew she hadn’t gone outside, or he would have passed her. Maybe his comment about keeping her mouth shut in company had scared her off. He supposed having Mike grill her with questions would make it a little awkward if she couldn’t reply. Which was exactly the sort of position he wanted to put her in. No, she wasn’t about to get away with this that easily.

  “He must be here somewhere,” Cole said. “Give us a sec.”

  “Make it snappy. I got more deliveries, you know.”

  Cole left the kitchen and walked toward the bathroom. “Anthony?” he called, and stepped in, but the room felt empty.

  “Anthony?” He tried his bedroom next. He could smell that perfume of hers in here and the room had the distinct quality of containing a presence.

  “Anthony?” No answer. He could swear she was in here.

  As he moved toward the doorway, a floorboard creaked to his right. Close, very close. He touched the open door, took a step back and swung it shut.

  “Anne?” he whispered. Still she didn’t reply, but he knew damn well she was there, hiding behind the door.

  He stepped closer, searching the air with his hand. He made contact—with something round and firm and warm. He felt her take a deep breath beneath his palm. She grabbed the front of his shirt, hauled him in close and trapped his hand between them.

  “What the—”

  Pressing a finger to his lips, she leaned so close her lips touched his ear.

  She whispered, “Let go of my boob, then get rid of him.”

  That’s what his hand had connected with? That’s where it was? Squashed between them? His heart missed about five beats. He knew he should pull away immediately, but the knowledge that he was touching her in such an intimate place froze him to the spot. Besides, why hadn’t she pushed him away? Why did she still have a firm grip on his shirt? And why could he still feel her breath on his ear?

  She was closer to him now than when they’d kissed. He felt her thighs against his, her heart hammering beneath his hand, and her breaths on his ear seemed to be getting faster and shorter. Was he having the same effect on her as she had on him? Surely not.

  Even if his vision returned right this instant, he wouldn’t be able to see her face. All he could rely on was what he felt. And he felt no resistance. If anything, he was sure she’d leaned into him just a smidgen more.

  He couldn’t help but realize how close he was to holding her. And he wanted to hold her very badly. All he had to do was wrap his free arm around her and pull her even closer. Then she’d be in his arms—well, arm—and if he raised his head just slightly, her lips would be right there for him to kiss again.

  Ever since he lost his sight, he’d relied on his instincts, and they served him well. And his instincts told him she didn’t want him to move away. That what she seemed to want was the same thing he wanted.

  As his free hand touched her back, she didn’t stiffen or force him away. When her cheek brushed against his and stayed there, he wrapped his arm around her waist and felt the fist she’d used to pull him close flatten on his chest.

  He wanted to remove his hand from her breast and enclose her fully in his arms. Just hold her. Hold her like he’d always wanted to be held. But he was afraid that if he moved his hand, the moment would be broken.

  And he had another problem. The urge to taste those lips again was overwhelming. He eased his head away slightly, felt her smooth cheek slide against his, their mouths so close.

  “Hey, Cole? I ain’t got all day here,” Mike shouted.

  The shock of Mike’s voice snapped him into reality and he took an involuntary step away from her. He’d been so far gone he’d completely forgotten Mike was in the house.

  His hand slipped from her breast just as hers fell away from his chest. “Don’t go anywhere,” he whispered and, with great reluctance, he opened the door and walked out.

  Who knew leaving a room could be so difficult?

  He’d only taken a few strides when Mike’s footsteps approached. “Couldn’t find him,” Cole said. “Must be round the back, maybe in the shed.”

  Mike clapped him on the arm. “I’ll meet him next time. One thing’s got me confused, though. Why you buyin’ wine when you’re a beer man?”

  Cole stiffened. “I, ah…better get to work. Those saplings…” he said, not knowing how to respond to Mike’s question.

  “Right. Sure. I’ll catch ya later.”

  Cole listened to him walk along the hallway, out the door and down the veranda steps. When the car engine started and gravel crunched under the tires, he headed to the bedroom, and stopped.

  What was he doing? He shouldn’t be trying to make moves on Anthea Cane. He needed to stay focused, concentrate on the job at hand—making her feel awkward and uncomfortable. That was the aim. Trying to hold and kiss her didn’t make any sense. No. He had to be hard on her, make her suffer the way she’d made him suffer.

  But he couldn’t leave her standing in there, waiting for him. He just needed to keep his distance.

  He went in again and swung the door closed. Before he could think about what he was doing, he honed in on her and stepped right into her personal space. But restrained his urge to touch her.

  “So, why were you hiding from Mike?” he asked, wishing he could see her eyes.

  “Because I look like a woman.”

  He shook his head. “What?”

  “When we came in for lunch, I took off my baggy shirt and hat and let my hair down. I couldn’t fix it in time. See?”
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br />   She took his wrist and swept his fingers into her soft, silky hair. Hair that felt like it was melting beneath his touch. Unable to help himself, he let it glide through his fingers as he lowered his hand. Long and smooth. It must shine in the sunlight, he thought as he reached the ends and they vanished from his fingertips.

  Was she trying to drive him insane? What if she had her own little plan to torment him like she used to? If that’s what she was trying to do, she was succeeding admirably.

  “Okay.” His voice croaked. He cleared his throat, tried to get a grip. “Anything else you might like to tell me?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  She hesitated, and in that moment he realized she was considering telling him the truth about who she was. A truth he didn’t want to hear. Not yet.

  “What color is this shirt?” he asked quickly.

  She released a long sigh. “It…it might be pink.”

  “Might be, huh?” he teased.

  “Just a little.”

  Laughing, he stepped away from her. “And by the way, I don’t know any farmhands who wear perfume, so you’d better stop putting it on.”

  As he left the room and headed toward the front door, she called after him, “I don’t have any perfume.”

  Chapter Nine

  A solid two weeks of good old-fashioned hard work in the field passed, and Anthea’s body ached in places she hadn’t known existed. Her muscles were used to working out purely so she could look her best, but this ache gave her a sense of satisfaction. This ache was the result of doing something that mattered to someone else, something that would help Cole. There was nothing superficial about this ache.

  Today, Cole let her go inside an hour before lunch and she took the opportunity to clean her Manolos at the kitchen table. Though she feared they were ruined, it wouldn’t hurt to try to salvage them. By the time she finished, they looked almost brand new.

  As she placed them against the wall on a sheet of newspaper, a car horn tooted outside. She grabbed her hat and slapped it on.

  When she hurried down the veranda steps, she stopped short as a woman in her early twenties alighted from a compact car. Hair puffed high on her head, makeup too thick on her face. The tight top and short skirt she wore left little to the imagination.