Undone by His Touch

A single, low oath blasted from his lips as bright scarlet bloomed and spread across the flagstones.

‘Wait, there’s another one.’

Chloe scuttled across to pick up the shard. ‘There, that’s all. You can move to the chair now.’

Above her he stood still as a bronze god, though in the silence she heard the hiss of his indrawn breath. Blood streamed from the gash at his heel.

Finally he spoke. ‘Perhaps you’d help me, Ms Daniels.’

Frowning, she got to her feet, put the brush and pan aside and moved closer. What did he want her to do? Surely he had the strength to hop the short distance to the chair?

‘You want me to support you?’

Something like anger flashed across his face and his nostrils flared. ‘Nothing so dramatic.’ He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Just give me your hand.’

Bewildered, Chloe complied, slipping her hand into his, absorbing the heat and sensation of hard strength surrounding her work-roughened fingers. She registered the ridges of scar tissue across his palm. A shiver of sensation skated up her arm and shoulder, raising the fine hairs on her nape.

She ignored it and looked into his face. This close she read the tiny lines bracketing his mouth as if he spent more time compressing his lips than smiling.

His features were stiff and the scar stood lividly on his taut cheek. Fierce energy hummed through him and into her, like a power source without a safety valve, inexorably rising. Tension twisted as she waited for him to speak.

Her eyes were at the level of his mouth and she watched, fascinated, as his sensuously sculpted lips thinned into a pained line.

‘You need to sit down so I can get the glass out. It won’t hurt so much then.’

His bark of laughter, rough and raw, echoed across the flagstones, jerking her gaze up to those impenetrable dark glasses.

‘The pain doesn’t bother me.’

Chloe frowned. If he wasn’t in pain, then what …?

He exhaled slowly through his nostrils, his fingers tightening around hers. When he spoke there was resignation as well as an undercurrent of anger in his words. ‘Just lead me to a chair, will you?’

‘Lead …?’

‘Yes, damn it. Haven’t you realised you’re talking to a blind man?’

CHAPTER TWO

THE silence pounded with the beat of blood roaring in his ears. He held his breath with anticipation, waiting for the inevitable gush of sympathy.

It was all he could do not to fling away from her.

He didn’t want sympathy. He didn’t want company. But he couldn’t afford the luxury of managing for himself. He’d probably end up with a foot full of glass, or, having lost his bearings completely, a black eye from walking into the pergola.

Almost he didn’t care. Yet he retained enough pride not to want to make a complete fool of himself before her. He did that often enough when he was alone.

Frustration surged and his muscles tightened as he thought of his frequent tumbles, his inability to do half the things he’d always taken for granted.

‘Of course,’ she murmured. ‘I apologise. I hadn’t realised you couldn’t see.’ Her words were the same as before, cool, crisp, not a shred of syrupy sympathy and for a moment he stood, startled.

Then she lifted his arm, wrapped hers around his torso and wedged her shoulder beneath his armpit. ‘If you lean on me it will be easier.’

She might have been a nurse with her brisk practicality. If he was reasonable he’d be grateful for her no-nonsense attitude.

But the soft press of her breast against his side, the cushioned swell of her hip against his thigh, the sudden scent of vanilla and sunshine as her hair tickled his bare chest and arm, made him anything but reasonable.

How long since he’d held a woman close? Would he ever again?

‘No!’ Declan yanked his arm free, shoving her aside rather than feel the teasing brush of that rounded feminine form. ‘I can do it myself. Just show me the way.’ His other hand tightened around hers as frustration rose.

‘Very well.’

Without another word she stepped forward, leading him. Declan put his weight on his good foot, and then supported himself on the ball of the injured one.

She didn’t go too fast. Nor did she shilly shally and ask if he could keep up. It had taken him weeks to cure David of that and David was the best PA he’d ever had.

‘There you are. The chair is to your left.’ She took his left hand in hers and pulled him gently forward till he touched metal. ‘There’s the arm of it.’

She said no more but waited till he manoeuvred himself round and down into the seat.

‘If you wait a few moments I’ll go and get the first-aid kit.’

‘I’ve got nowhere else to go.’

There was an almost inaudible huff of sound, as if he’d surprised a laugh out of her. Then she was gone and he was alone.

He should be used to it now, this sense of isolation. Sometimes it grew so intense it morphed into a crawling fear that one day he’d be left so completely alone in the dark he’d never be with others again. A childish terror, but one that still woke him in the middle of the night, chest heaving and heart pounding as he reached out, clawing at the inky darkness that enveloped him.

Declan reminded himself that solitude was what he’d always come to the mountains for. A change from the hectic pace of his overloaded schedule. His usually overloaded schedule.

No longer. He’d had to delegate more to keep up, despite David’s assistance.

Anger, his ever-present companion, snarled in his veins—till he reminded himself he’d been the lucky one.

Instantly the familiar fog of regret and guilt enveloped him. His stomach twisted. He should be thankful to have survived. Yet he couldn’t convince himself it was for the best. His failure made this prison of blankness even more unbearable. If only he’d …

‘Here you are. I’ve brought the first-aid supplies.’ That voice again, cool and clear, yet with a richness that made him wonder what her singing voice was like.

‘You had no trouble finding me, then?’ Sarcasm was poor repayment for her assistance, but the caged beast that raged and growled inside demanded outlet. Declan’s usual means of using up excess energy—skiing, climbing and sex—were denied him.

Sex was possible, he supposed. He’d have to get someone like this efficient housekeeper to find and dial the numbers in his private directory. For a moment he diverted himself, wondering how she’d react if he asked her to ring his ex-lovers. Would she sound so prim and proper then?

But he couldn’t stomach the thought of sympathy sex. For that was what it would be.

Scorching anger churned in his belly. What woman would want him now?

He refused to be the object of anyone’s pity, grateful for the crumbs they deigned to dole out now he was so much less than he’d been. Even the doctors played that game, holding out the possibility his sight might return, though never guaranteeing it.