Paradise Found

by Mary Campisi

  “I…can't accept this.” Because you think there's still hope for something other than friendship between us. You don't know what your brother and I were doing in this kitchen a few minutes ago and you certainly don’t know what I wanted to do.

  “Open it,” he coaxed.

  Sara hesitated a second longer, but the little-boy expression on Adam's face settled her decision. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matt tense—as though he had wanted her to refuse it. She eased the gold ribbon over the package, her fingers lingering on the fine satin. Saks or Bloomingdale quality, another small but potent reminder of the different world she lived in—a world far removed from Matthew Brandon and his family. She slipped a finger beneath the crisp, metallic folds of the paper and lifted up on the tape. The wrapping fell away, revealing a plain white box.

  “You don't get many gifts, do you?” Adam asked, his voice thoughtful.

  Her head shot up. “Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged. “Just by the way you're opening it.”

  “I like to savor my gifts,” she said, brushing aside his question. He was too much the gentleman to push her. Matt, on the other hand, was just the type to pry and probe until he dug out every last scrap of dirt. She hoped he wouldn't. How could she tell either of them that Jeff was the only one who had ever remembered her birthday? And that Christmas was a sad, lonely affair with nothing under her Charlie Brown tree but a few small tokens from clients, and Jeff and Jessie?

  “Just open the damned thing,” Matt said, frowning.

  She ignored him. He was getting into one of his moods. Again. Flipping the box up, she fished around puffs of white and gold tissue paper, uncovering a glass ball the size of a large grapefruit. It was painted in crimson, jade, and violet hues. She held it up to the light and watched the colors blend into one another, creating a muted kaleidoscope of design. “It's beautiful,” she breathed, fingering the violet cord attached to the ball.

  “Hand blown by one of those artsy types you seem to like so much,” Adam said. “You can hang it up and ‘contemplate the iridescence that envelops you.’” He laughed. “That's what the clerk told me.”

  Matt walked up to the table. “Mind if I take a look?” He held out a hand and Sara placed it in his grasp, her fingers brushing against his. She watched as he closed his hands around the ball, moved it between his palms and traced his fingers over the textured work. His brows met over the bridge of his nose as he concentrated on the glass ball. “What color is it?”

  “It's a blend of crimson, jade, and violet,” she answered, watching his fingers run the length of the cord. “And the cord is violet.”

  He nodded. “And the pattern? Is there one?”

  “Yes,” she said, her gaze darting from the intense expression on his face to his fingertips trailing over the ball. “But it's very abstract. There's a mix of crimson, jade, and violet that repeats itself in soft swirls around the ball. That's about as uniform as it gets.”

  He smoothed his hand over the ball. Like a caress. “I can picture it,” he said. “Almost as though I can see it.”

  “You are seeing it, in your own way.” She couldn't hide her excitement. “You're piecing together the bits of information we've given you and mixing it with the history stored in your memory to formulate a picture. Adam, isn't that wonderful?”

  “Yeah, it is pretty amazing,” he agreed. “Maybe I should have brought one back for my big brother, too.”

  They all laughed and Matt handed the glass ball back to Sara. She was careful not to touch him this time. She placed the gift back in its box and said to Adam, “Thank you so much. I'll treasure it always.” On impulse she rose from her chair and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “Keep doing that and I'll bring you something every night,” he teased.

  “You'll have to do it on your own time,” Matt interrupted. “She's mine from nine to five.”

  Adam laughed.

  “Every day.”

  Sara's smile faded.

  “You're kidding, right?” Adam asked.

  “Saturday and Sunday, too,” Matt said, his lips flattening.

  “Matt?” What was he up to? Why the demands?

  “What?” he snapped, turning toward her.

  “Aren’t you being a little …extreme?”

  “I don't think so. Don't you want to provide me with every opportunity to adapt to my condition?” he challenged. “After all, we've only got a few days left.”

  Now she knew he was up to something. The man hadn't been interested in adapting to anything, let alone his blindness. Why the sudden change of heart? “What's going on, Matt?”

  “I'm just seeing if the doctor is as dedicated as she says she is.”

  “I thought I wasn't a doctor to you.” She remembered his words well. “No pads, no paper, no questions. Remember?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I changed my mind.”

  Adam shot him a disgusted look. “Fine. Don't worry about it, Sara. Jeff should be here in less than a week. Why don't you think about staying on a little longer? In an unofficial capacity?”

  “As what?” The chill in Matt's voice surprised her.

  “As my friend.”

  Matt snorted.

  “Oh, I forgot. You've never known a woman who was just a friend.” Adam's normal, easygoing demeanor vanished beneath his sarcasm.

  She had to stop this verbal sparring before it escalated into something nasty. “Thank you, Adam, but I've really got to get back home.”

  “Don't say anything yet,” he coaxed. “Just wait and see how things turn out.”

  Matt stood with his feet planted wide apart, jaw clenched, his silver stare fixed on her. “You heard her.” His lips barely moved. “She's got to get back home.”

  Was that sarcasm? Is so, why?

  Adam ignored his brother's words. “We'll discuss it later.”

  “Good,” Matt said. “Anytime after five.” He stepped forward and took hold of her arm. “Right now, we've got work to do.”

  Sara threw Adam a helpless look and turned to follow Matt, but not before she swiped the tickets from the counter. If Adam thought his brother was being difficult now, just wait a few minutes. Once she told Matt about the ball game, there would be real fireworks—maybe strong enough to blast her back to Pittsburgh.

  Matt practically dragged her down the hallway, his long strides eating up the distance twice as fast as her smaller ones. He surprised her by stopping in front of his study. “In here.” She stepped inside, wondering why he'd chosen the study. Adam had told her he hadn't been there for months. Why now? The door clicked shut. “I want you to leave Adam alone.”

  Sara whirled around and stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  He advanced on her. “He's falling for you. Big time. I don't want you to encourage him.”

  She wanted to hit him with something to knock some sense into his thick skull. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything big enough to do a half-decent job. “You think I was encouraging him?”

  “Possibly,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Or maybe it was just a ploy to make me jealous.”

  “You think I would do that?”

  He shrugged. “You tell me.”

  His words hurt. She wanted to make him feel this same pain, but a person had to care to hurt like that. His casual accusations told her he didn't—unfortunately, her reaction to his torture told her she did.

  How had this happened? Hadn't she vowed never to open up to another man again? How had this one gotten through her defenses? More importantly, how could she get him back on the other side?

  “Answer me,” Matt said. “Would you use my brother to make me jealous?”

  She stared at him, thinking him more a stranger now than the first day they'd met. “No.” He let out a slow breath. “You're not worth it.”

  His silver gaze narrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means,” she repeated with years of practiced calm, “that you aren't worth low
ering myself to such base behavior.”

  His lips pulled into a cold smile. “I see. And did you lower yourself to such base behavior with me a little while ago?”

  “That was a mistake.”

  “We've already established that fact.” He moved toward her and crossed his arms over his chest. “What I want to know is how the hell did you step off your pedestal long enough to experience some real base emotions?”

  She didn't like his probing questions. “Can't we just forget about it?”

  “I hate to admit it, but I'm finding it a little hard to just forget about it.” He took another step and clasped her wrists. “Before I only wondered what you tasted and felt like. Now I know.” His smile faded. “And it's the knowing that I think is going to kill me.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. When she shivered, he said, “Now tell me you can forget about it.”

  “No,” she said, strength seeping into her words. “This is wrong. I'm leaving in a few days, a week at most. I can't just have a little fling and then catch my flight back to Pittsburgh like nothing happened. I thought I could, but I can't.”

  “What about the electricity that's been flowing between us since the day we met? What do you plan to do about that?”

  “Nothing.” She didn't deny her attraction for him.

  “What are you afraid of, Sara? Why are you running away?”

  “I'm not running. It's called self-preservation.”

  “Self-preservation?” He spat out the word. “You make me sound like some kind of beast.”

  Her heart swelled with sadness. “It's not you. It's me. I don't go in for casual flings. Never have. I couldn't just shake your hand and walk away when it was over, as though we'd shared nothing more than a cup of coffee.”

  “I don't make promises.” The brackets around his mouth deepened. “Or commitments.”

  “I know.” Her voice was whisper-soft. “But I do.”

  He swore under his breath. “Fine,” he said in a tone that told her it was anything but fine. “If that's the way you want it, then fine. But don't tempt me.”

  “Tempt you?” She almost laughed. “How would I do that?”

  “Even someone like you knows about tempting a man.” His words were bitter, cutting. “Don't use that low, throaty voice on me.”

  “It's the way I talk.”

  “Change it. And stop using that lemon-orange perfume.”

  “Okay.” Maybe she could find some skunk juice for him.

  “And don't be so damned agreeable,” he bit out.

  “Fine.” She knew how to be damned disagreeable.

  “And don't stand next to me, brush up against me, or touch any part of your person to mine.”

  Now he was beyond ridiculous. “I've got a better idea. Why don't we communicate through my door for the next few days? That way you won't run the risk of touching or smelling me.”

  “Don't be a smart ass.”

  She ignored his comment. “Better yet, we'll use Rex as a go-between. That way, you won't have to hear me either. Just in case you think I'm trying to seduce you with my voice.”

  “Stop it,” he said, grabbing her hands.

  “Let me go.”

  “What's this?” he asked, touching the tickets in her left hand.

  She tried to pull away, but he held fast. “Nothing. They're mine.”

  He traced them, felt the raised lettering, the embossed surface. “Baseball tickets.”

  “They're mine,” she repeated.

  “All three?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tomorrow night's game, I'll bet. Who's going?”

  “Rex and I,” she hedged.

  “That's two. Who gets the third one?”

  You were supposed to get it, you idiot. “I thought I'd ask Adam.”

  “Like hell you are. Didn't I just tell you he's off-limits?”

  “And didn't I tell you we're just friends?”

  “Not if he has anything to say about it.”

  “Well, he doesn't.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  “I'll take the third ticket.”

  She blinked. Twice. “You?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Why not ? Because you haven't left the house in months, haven't walked down the street, let alone considered submerging yourself in a throng of thirty thousand screaming fans. “Because…you haven't…”

  “Exactly,” he said. “Because I haven't.”

  Before she could ask any more questions, he released her hand and turned away, leaving her gaping after him. She remained glued to her spot, staring straight ahead, long after the door clicked shut.

  Chapter 10

  The limousine maneuvered along the highway, winding its way toward Dodger Stadium. Matt’s pulse tripled as the miles ticked away. Soon, he'd be forced to enter the real world.

  He wasn’t ready. He doubted he'd be ready a year from now—or ten. So why had he opened his big mouth and said he was going to the game with Sara? He knew the answer, had known it from the beginning, but it didn't make it any more palatable.

  Anger had spurred him forward to claim that third ticket. He hadn't liked the thought of Sara going with Adam. That was another situation that had him bugged. Was something going on between those two? Of course she denied it, but was she telling the truth? Was she capable of groping around in the kitchen with him one minute and accepting his brother's advances the next? The possibility burrowed a hole straight to his heart.

  And just exactly what had been happening in the kitchen yesterday? He still couldn't figure it out. Oh, he knew what they'd said to each other later that day. Her words had lain in his gut like a cold slice of pizza coated with congealed cheese and greasy pepperoni.

  Can't we just forget about it? There had been an almost desperate sincerity in her voice.

  Forget it? Hardly. Not when the thought of her soft skin under his fingers made him hard. What the hell was wrong with him? He'd touched a lot of women with a lot more intimacy than the brief encounter in the kitchen. It didn't mean anything, he kept telling himself. She didn't mean anything. It was a physical thing. Period. His biological time clock was reminding him he was way overdue in the sex department.

  So why did the touches that meant nothing from the woman who meant nothing to him, continue to plague him?

  “We'll be there in a few minutes.” Sara's husky voice jolted him back. She was sitting beside him, smelling like some sort of tropical concoction. Vanilla, maybe. There was probably a good three feet between them, but he could still smell her. At least it wasn't that orange-lemon scent that drove him wild. Unfortunately, this was a close second.

  “Okay. Fine,” he said, feeling anything but fine.

  She cleared her throat. “We may have one slight problem at the stadium.”

  “Problem?” He'd thought of hundreds of ‘slight problems’ since he'd gotten into the car. What if he fell? Got separated? Was recognized? Couldn't maneuver the steps? Bumped into something? Or someone? The problems went on and on.

  “Someone is going to have to stay very close and help you negotiate your way around.”

  That was a problem? “Right. I know that.”

  “Well…” she dragged out her words, “that would be either me or Rex.”

  He let out a short laugh. “I’ll take you over Rex.”

  Rex snorted. “Some friend.”

  “But that will mean I have to touch you,” she said, lowering her voice.

  “So?”

  Her breath brushed against his ear. “Yesterday, you told me not to get near you or touch your person again.” She sounded irritated. “You were very specific about it.” Those last words came out like a hissing cat. Pissed. That's what she was.

  Of course he'd said those things and he'd meant them. She was making him think about her too much. Time to put up the wall and create some distance—but not today.

  “I need you now,” he whispered, ignoring her words. “I need you
to help me get through this.” It was as close as he would come to admitting he was scared.

  After the slightest hesitation, she said, “Okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I'll hold your hand and lay out a blueprint as we go,” she said. “I'll be with you every step of the way.”

  “Good.” He laid his head against the back of the seat, tilted his ball cap low over his forehead and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the road in front of him, the miles behind him, and the unpredictable, tempting woman beside him.

  Matt didn't talk for the rest of the trip, letting the classical music and Rex's tour guide instincts fill the air. As for Sara, she seemed intrigued with Rex's elaboration on the glimpses of various locales they passed along the highway, questioning him about the scenery, history, and people.

  Rex's loud voice and Sara's throaty responses bombarded Matt's quiet. It was impossible to ignore either one of them. Rex was a great guy, one of his most trusted friends, but damn the man had a mouth on him. Gregarious was an understatement. And Sara. Well, lately it seemed she only had to breathe and his senses pricked with awareness.

  “The stadium's over there, down to the right,” Rex said in his usual voice, which ranked eight decibels louder than the average person.

  “Oh, I see it! Matt, we're almost there.”

  “Mmm,” he grunted, pretending to be roused from sleep. In less than ten minutes, he'd be thrust among a crowd of about thirty thousand people. And he'd bet he was the only blind man among the whole lot. Get a grip, Brandon. Do you want to look like a coward? Do you want to let the fear grip you so hard, it'll paralyze you? Then you'll never be able to pull out of its clutches. It's time. Now. Sweat beaded on his forehead as Rex slowed the car. Don't fall apart. Don't lock yourself into it.

  You can do it. You can do it. His breathing came in rapid little spurts. Count the steps. Sara will guide you. She won't let you fall. Trust her. His hands grew wet, clammy. Open up, just this once. Trust somebody other than yourself.

  “Okay,” Rex said, pulling the limo up to the curve. “Here we are. Sara, you know the game plan.”

  “Right. Matt and I will get to our seats and meet you there. We've got almost forty-five minutes to game time.”