by Desiree Holt
Finally, he slid from the clasp of her body and rolled to the side. When he eased himself off the bed, she figured he was going to dispose of the condom. Then he was back beside her, cradling her against him, stroking her cheek.
“If I said it was amazing, I’d be a liar,” he said. “There aren’t even words to describe what happened here.”
She snuggled against him. “Me, too,” she said in a whispery voice. Then, hesitantly, she reminded him of their agreement. For Christmas. No blindfold or T-shirt. Both of them naked and open so they could devour each other.
His grip on her tightened, and she sat still as a statue, waiting for him to say “Yes.”
But after a silence lasting far too long, he released her. A moment later, he slipped off the bed. A chill settled over her like spilled ice water.
“I thought I could do this. I really did. But I can’t.”
“Why” she cried, rising to her knees. “What’s so awful you can’t let me see it?”
“You don’t want to know. Believe me.”
A terrible pain struck her. “Blake, I don’t care what it is. Don’t you know I love you? Nothing you could show me or tell me could change things between us.”
“You can’t make that kind of promise. Don’t love me. It won’t work. I never should have started this in the first place. Please go. Get out of my house and out of my life.”
There was so much pain in his voice.
“Please,” she begged. “Won’t you give us a chance?”
“I’m going into the bathroom. Please be gone when I come out.”
The door slammed, its sound as loud as the shattering of her heart. What should she do? What could she do?
When she finally realized he wasn’t coming out until she left, she ripped off the blindfold. She was only vaguely aware of the massive masculine furnishings of the room as she dragged on her clothes, remembering the anticipation when she’d put them on at home. On very shaky legs, her mind frozen and her heart shattered, she made her way down the stairs. Grange met her in the hallway.
“You folks ready for dinner?” Then he stared at her, dumbfounded. “He took the blindfold off?”
“No.” She had to force the words out. “I took it off. And don’t worry. I didn’t see anything, Blake locked himself in the bathroom until I left.”
“He what?”
She shrugged on her jacket, picked up her purse and keys. “Please tell him if he wants any more books, he should send you in to pick them up. I won’t be coming back here.”
“Wait.” He grabbed her arm. “What did he say? Tell me.”
“He told me to get out of his house and out of his life. Tell him I’m doing exactly that.”
Grange tried to stop her from leaving, but she had to leave before she broke down completely. She drove home in a fog, glad she didn’t have far to go. When she was inside, the door locked, Brutus greeting her cheerfully, she broke completely. She sank to the floor, cuddling the dog, and cried on his fur until she was sure she had no tears left.
Where her heart lived all that remained was a sharp pain. She felt sick to her stomach and her head throbbed. Christmas. All it meant for her was more pain and heartache. What a fool she’d been. Hadn’t she learned before? Blake Massie wasn’t different at all. She’d read too much into his touches, his sensuous words, his focus on her, which she figured had probably been make believe.
After a long time, she managed to get up and let Brutus out. She refused to look at herself in the mirror while she undressed and put on her warmest flannel pajamas and a robe. She was freezing, even though she knew the house was toasty warm. After letting the dog back in, she climbed into bed and pulled up the covers. As if sensing her mood, Brutus wriggled his way under the covers with her and pressed himself against her.
And another flood of tears erupted.
Nina had no idea how long she cried. Finally, with Brutus trying to give her comfort and her throat raw, she fell into an uneasy sleep. Her last thought was, Please don’t let me dream tonight.
***
“Just what in the fucking hell did you do?” Grange demanded. He stormed into Blake’s room as Blake finished dressing.
“About what, old man?”
“About the sweet woman who left here five minutes ago looking like you’d ripped the heart out of her.” He pointed his finger at Blake. “I’m ashamed of you. She’s been nothing but amazing to you. And in case you didn’t take notice, she’s in love with you. Although for the life of me I can’t imagine why.”
“Neither can I,” he spat. “Now you know why I had to let her go. Get out of here and let me enjoy my misery. ”
“Let her go?” Grange was almost apoplectic. “Toss her out is more like it. I hope I never have to see such pain on another human’s face again. Otherwise I might have to kill you myself.”
“Leave it alone. I never should have started this.” He sat on the edge of the bed, emotional pain lancing through him. “You know as well as I do, if she saw me in the flesh she’d run screaming out of the house.”
“Don’t you think you might be shortchanging her a little?”
Blake snorted. “Caro didn’t even hang around to see the mess I was. As soon as she heard the prognosis she took off at a dead run.”
“Caro was a girl, who thought it would be fun to have an older man dance attention on her. Maybe hang around a ranch together. I still can’t figure out how you two got together.”
Thinking back on it, Blake questioned the same thing himself. “What’s done is done,” he said.
“I’ll tell you what’s done.” Grange’s voice was filled with tightly controlled anger. “What’s done is you’re on your own. I’m sick of this whining self pity and lack of desire to help yourself.”
“I’m doing the therapy exercises, aren’t I?”
“That’s nothing compared to the rest of it. I’ve known you since you were a little kid, Blake, but I never thought you were a coward. And I don’t work for cowards. I’m tired of it. You can figure out what to do with the rest of your miserable life, but I’m going back to the ranch.”
Blake stared after him, dumbfounded. Grange leaving? How would he exist?
The man paused in the doorway and turned back to him. “If you want to live instead of letting yourself waste away, you might start with an apology to Miss Foster. Personally, I don’t think you’ve got the guts. You lost them in the fire, and now you’re nothing but a self-pitying coward.”
“Yeah? I’ll bet she won’t let me in the house.”
“But maybe she will. What have you got to lose? ?”
He stomped away, his footsteps echoing as he descended the stairs. Blake’s heart raced, and he thought he might actually throw up. He closed his eyes, and behind his eyelids, he could see endless years ahead of him—Grange gone, and himself dying a slow miserable death in this house. His heart, he was sure, was permanently destroyed, and his attitude toward life bleaker than ever.
Gutless, Grange had said. A coward. He’d never thought to hear anyone use those words to describe him.
But what if he actually went to her house? What if she opened the door, saw the physical mess he’d become and was revolted by him?
Would you be any worse off than you are?
The answer was an inescapable no.
He sat on the edge of the bed a long time, gathering what little courage he had and feeling the slow beat of his broken heart. Grange was right. He was tossing away the best thing to ever happen to him. He’d been fooling himself to think they could go on forever this way. The blindfold and T-shirt had been the wall he’d hidden behind. It was time to kick the wall down.
Could he do it?
It’s better than the alternative.
After a long time, he rose from the bed and stuffed his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. He slowly made his way downstairs, wondering where Grange was. He had the keys to the car.
“Grange,” he shouted. “Get in here, old man.”
The man appeared from the kitchen. “What’s got your ass on fire all of a sudden?”
“I need the keys to the car.” He held out his hand. “Now.”
“It’s three in the morning. Where do you think you’re going?”
“You know damn well where.” He wiggled his fingers. “The keys.”
“She might not take kindly to being raised out of bed.”
“I’m hoping she won’t mind after I finish talking to her.”
Grange stared at him stupefied. Then his mouth curved in a slow grin. “She won’t throw you out, boy. I feel it in my bones.”
“I hope you’re right. Otherwise, I’m coming home and drinking myself into oblivion.”
As he pulled away from the house, shaking with fear and desire for the first time since the fire, he prayed. Lord, I haven’t been much for praying lately, but I’m asking you on Christmas Eve. Please don’t let her back away from me.
***
The insistent sound of the doorbell roused Nina from her thankfully dreamless sleep. She stared blearily at the numbers on the bedside clock. Who on earth would be here at this hour? Maybe if she pulled the pillows over her head, they’d go away.
But the ringing didn’t stop, and Brutus began to bark loudly. Finally, the ringing ceased, only to be replaced by loud banging on the door.
Nauseous and achy, she dragged herself out of bed, cell phone in hand in case she had to call the sheriff.
“Nina. Damn it, Nina. Open the door.”
Blake? Here?
Her heart nearly stopped beating. She couldn’t face him. All she wanted was to curl up in a ball and hide from the world.
More pounding.
What does he want?
She wasn’t up for another speech about this was for the best.
“Go away,” she yelled over the dog’s loud barking.
“Not until you open the door.”
“I’ll call the sheriff,” she told him.
“Good. Then I can get him to open it.”
She moved slowly to the door, not even caring how she might appear to him. She’d tell him to go away and go back to bed. When she unlocked all the locks and swung the door open, he was standing there with his hat covering his face. She dropped her gaze to her feet.
“Blake, please go home. If you ever cared anything for me at all, leave me some privacy.”
“Cared about you?” His voice was pained. “You have no idea how much I cared for you. Still do.”
“So you broke your word to me because you care for me? What’s this all about?” she demanded. “Tell me why you’re here, or I’m calling Hawk.”
“Let me in, and I will.”
“I don’t have a blindfold,” she snapped. “Is that why you have your hat over your face?”
“No,” he told her as he stepped inside. “This is.” He lowered the hat and stared at her.
Nina was glad she’d learned not to react sharply to things. She studied every bit of Blake’s face, swallowing as her eyes took in the ridged scars where the beard didn’t cover them. The slight sag at the corner of one eye.
“You were in a fire,” she said in a gentle voice. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She wet her lips. “Would you like to come in and have some coffee and tell me about it?”
“How come you’re not shocked like other people?” He voice was grim.
“First of all, I’m not other people. Secondly, with your beautiful beard, it’s not nearly as traumatizing as you think.” She stepped back and gestured to him. “Kitchen’s this way.”
When he followed her, she indicated a chair at the small table. “Have a seat while I fix the coffee. It’s late and you must be tired.”
“Don’t you want to see my face better?” His words were knife-edge sharp, laced with a healthy dose of bitterness and fear.
She put down the canister and walked over to where he sat. Taking his face between her palms, she again studied every inch of it. Beneath her hands, Blake vibrated with nerves. She couldn’t deny the scars, but they weren’t nearly as bad as he probably thought. The facial hair and thick eyebrows disguised a lot of it. And those eyes! Dark black pools she could fall into. Without thinking she smoothed her hands over his beard and skin then kissed both his cheeks and his forehead.
“I’ve seen uglier.” She pressed her lips against his for the briefest moment. “Let me finish fixing the coffee.”
As she went back to making the coffee the scraping sound on the floor let her know he had pushed his chair back and was probably getting up. To leave? But the distinctive rustle of clothing sounded as if he was undressing. Was there more to show her?
Prepare yourself, Nina. Don’t let the least bit of distress show.
She wished she’d taken a minute to wash her face and brush her hair. After the extended crying jag, she was sure she’d scare dogs and small children. Then she swallowed a laugh. What was she worried about? The last thing on his mind was how she appeared.
She had just poured the water into the reservoir and pressed the Start button when Blake’s voice, deep and rough, cut into the silence
“Look at me, Nina.”
She did, slowly, fingernails digging into her palms so she wouldn’t react to anything. It was a damn good thing. Crisscrossing Blake’s chest were thick, ridged scars wound around shiny patches of skin. He faced away from her enough to give her a view of his back, which was, if anything, worse.
Don’t react. Don’t say a word. Be calm.
She was smart enough to realize what happened in the next few minutes would set the course for the rest of her life. She walked over to where he stood and, with deliberate slowness, raised her hands and smoothed them first over his chest then his back. Then she stood in front of him and kissed every inch of his skin from his shoulders to his waist. Finally, she met his gaze, saw the anguish in his eyes.
“I can’t begin to imagine the pain you were in when this happened.”
Beneath the beard a muscle twitched in his cheek. “How come you’re not revolted by the scars? Everyone else who’s seen them was.”
She made herself smile. “I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m more interested in what’s beneath the scars. Here.” She placed a hand over his heart, then gave him an impish smile, lowering her hand to his groin. “And here.”
He captured her hands. “What if you had to see this every day? What then?”
She shrugged. “Then I would do whatever I had to in order to ease the pain. If you think this is going to keep me away from you, I’m insulted. I thought you had more respect for my intelligence.”
Blake shook his head. “I hope you’re telling me the truth. I’m not sure I could take it if you aren’t.”
“I will always tell you the truth. You can count on it.” She thought a moment about framing her next words. “I think I’m glad for the blindfold business. For one thing, we got to live out our fantasies, our dreams, in a way we might not have been able to otherwise. For another, it allowed me to know the real Blake Massie. The man. An extraordinary one, I might say.”
He released her hands and bent to capture his mouth. The kiss was slow and smoky, tender and scorching, light yet intense.
“You have no idea how scared I was to come here.” He grinned. “But Grange told me some hard truths about myself. He also told me I was about to lose the best thing that ever happened to me.”
The coffeemaker gave a gurgle and a plop. “Coffee’s ready. I’ll get us some mugs.”
Brutus had been restrained in his reaction to Blake, probably because he sensed something in the air. Now, he danced around the man’s ankles, barking excitedly. Blake reached down to scratch his head.
“So, who was his stand-in for the picture you put up on IM the first night we ‘talked’?”
“Oh, yeah.” Nina laughed again. “I always post the picture when someone asks if I live alone. Brutus doesn’t mind.” She lifted two filled mugs. “Want to take these into the living room?”<
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He nodded. “We need to do a lot of talking, Nina. And not only about me. So we might as well get comfortable.”
When he knelt in front of the fireplace to get a blaze started, she almost told him to leave it.
“I’m good,” he assured her. “It’s only when fire gets out of control that it’s bad.”
He arranged himself in a corner of the sofa, legs stretched out before him. Nina crawled in next to him, his free arm draped around her shoulders. And they talked. And talked. And talked. She cried when he told her about the burns and the seven months in the hospital. And his decision to hide away from everyone. She kissed his face all over then trailed her mouth down his neck. One hand stole beneath his T-shirt to rest on his chest.
“Let me touch you here all the time. Let me hold your heart.”
“You had it from the moment I saw your picture on the website,” he told her.
“What about your brother and sister?”
“I didn’t want to burden them. Or force them to be confronted with me every day. Who wants someone like me hanging around all the time?”
“Whoever loves you.” She put her mug on the coffee table and leaned toward him to shower his chin with kisses. “It’s what’s inside that’s important.”
“Yeah.” He scratched his head. “Grange tried to tell me that for a long time.”
He told her about his leg and resisting the therapy to make it better until she came into his life.
“You did it for me?”
He nodded. “I wanted to be more for you than some cripple you felt sorry for.”
“Oh, Blake. I want you to do whatever makes life easier for you, not because you think it’s aesthetically pleasing to me. How you feel inside is what’s important.”
She hesitated to tell him about Greg and Tom, those stories couldn’t compare to what he’d suffered. She felt like a fool. The stories branded her an idiot for trusting them. But Blake saw it differently.