by Diana Palmer
The feel of his hands made her weak-kneed, but not from fear. “Aren’t you just afraid of pity, Saxon?” she whispered, watching his face as it came closer. “Isn’t that what’s wrong?”
His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, and she could see the arrow had hit home. His dark eyes closed and opened again. “Yes,” he breathed.
Her hands found his face, tremulous hands, taking a liberty that once they wouldn’t have dared. He flinched almost imperceptibly at the silken contact.
“How,” she whispered, “could anyone pity a man like you? Don’t you know that you’re still more of a man, even without your sight, than most men are? Blind, lame, deaf or paralyzed—you’re still Saxon Tremayne. If you’ll believe in yourself, you can do anything you want to. Anything.”
She saw the flickering of indecision under his thick lashes. His hands where they gripped her upper arms had become gentle; holding, not hurting.
“I can’t bear pity,” he said.
“I’m glad,” she replied, her voice lighter than she felt, “because I wouldn’t presume to offer it to you.”
“I won’t use a damned cane,” he warned.
She smiled through tears he couldn’t see. “You’ll have me, for a while. Then you can replace me with a Seeing Eye dog. Don’t you like animals?”
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I’ve never had time for them.”
“Dogs make nice pets,” she said. “They’re very intelligent, and they’re softer than a cane. There are even new devices that can be surgically implanted to approximate sight.”
“No,” he said curtly.
“You could at least speak with a doctor...”
“You could at least shut up,” he murmured, and before she realized his intention, he bent forward and his mouth eased onto hers, his chiseled lips parting as they met hers, merging with them, opening them to the soft slow probing of his tongue.
Her hands on his cheeks hesitated for a second before they slid up into the thick silvered hair at his temples. Her own eyes closed, and her mouth yielded to his, wanting it, as the wind whipped softly around them, blending with the soft sounds of fabric sliding against fabric as he brought her closer.
It was heaven to be held like this, kissed like this. It had been so long, and she’d wanted him so during all the lonely months. She moaned softly at the force of the hunger. She’d never expected to feel such overpowering desire for a man; desire that made her ache in ways she never had, that made her legs tremble, her protests die before they ever reached the mouth he was devouring.
He drew back an inch, and his hand moved from her arm to the soft warm swell of her breast.
“No,” she whispered, moving it up gently to her shoulder.
“I only want to ‘see’ what you look like,” he murmured with a wicked smile.
“You already have,” she reminded him.
“You’ve probably changed by now,” he chuckled. “And I’m a poor blind man, without eyes to see.”
“Pull the other one,” she said, laughing. “You lecherous tycoon, you.”
“I thought you were staying here to help me. My bed is quite large...”
“Not that kind of help, and you very well know it,” she returned.
His fingers traced up to find her lips, teasing the soft lines into a smile. His eyes sparkled with humor, the way they had so long ago when they could see her. “Are you still a virgin?”
She studied his face. “How do you know I was?”
“I didn’t. But you weren’t very worldly, Miss Sterline,” he reminded her. “And it still bothers you to be touched with any intimacy. I’m just curious. I’d like to know if you’ve been with a man.”
Her eyes found his collar, watching the heavy pulse that leaped against it. She sighed. “It isn’t exactly in vogue these days, and most people don’t believe me anyway—so I just let men think I’m being almighty selective and let it go at that.”
“I take that to mean that you’ve never said yes?” he asked, his eyes more intent than she’d seen them so far.
She drew in a deep breath. “Yes,” she admitted wearily. “I’m not trying to bring back the Victorian age,” she added. “It’s just that, for me, sex means commitment. Utter commitment to one man. And I’ve never found a man I cared to make a commitment to.”
“You are a very attractive woman,” he murmured, reminiscence in his dark eyes as they stared blankly toward her. “Stacked, I believe the term is, and with a lovely face to match. There couldn’t have been a shortage of offers.”
“There hasn’t been,” she admitted. She smiled up at him; Maggie realized it was a smile he couldn’t see, but it was in her voice all the same. “Yet,” she added impishly.
He didn’t smile. His fingers moved again, going over her delicate features lightly. “I want you,” he said quietly, the words having all the more impact for their very softness. “I want the first time to happen with me.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Why?” she asked, drowning in his touch, in the soft words.
“Because some careless damned fool would hurt you. I wouldn’t.” His head went forward, his cheek drawing slowly, sensually, against hers, his breath warm at her ear. “I’ve never made love to a virgin,” he whispered. “I’ve never wanted to until now. Do you know what a priceless thing you are?”
Her fingers contracted at the back of his head. She wanted to stretch like a cat, to feel her body move sinuously against his, and her own longings were faintly shocking. She could hardly breathe for the pounding of her heart.
“Is this part of it?” she managed to ask, hating the words as she said them, but she was weakening, and she didn’t dare. “Part of the scheme to make me pay for what you think I did?”
His body froze and tautened. He drew in a breath and moved away from her. All the old rigidity was back in his face; the tenderness had vanished from his cold brown eyes.
“You’re sharp, aren’t you?” he asked with narrowed eyes. “I’ll have to be more careful from now on.”
“You won’t bring me to my knees, Mr. Tremayne,” she said pertly, moving away from him. “But you’re welcome to try.”
“Don’t you think I can, honey?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “This was just a minor skirmish. The battle is yet to come, and you’re going to be here for a while.”
“Only a couple of weeks,” she replied firmly. “I do have a job that can’t be held open indefinitely.”
“We’ll discuss that little problem some other time.” He lighted another cigarette. “I thought we came out here to admire the view.”
“So did I,” she muttered, crossing her long legs. “What would you like to do about it? I could gather some leaves and toss them over you, along with a few pebbles, to give you the feel of the season.”
“I could pitch you off this damned porch too,” he chuckled. “Blind or not, it wouldn’t take much effort.”
She laughed with him, some of the tension gone. Her eyes drifted out toward the highway to the backdrop of blue mountains.
“How long have your people lived here?” she asked.
“In Jarrettsville?” he asked. “Oh, a hundred and fifty years or so. The Jarrett who founded the town was an ancestor.”
“And your stepmother’s family?” she asked.
He grinned. “Carpetbaggers.” He chuckled. “I dearly love to tease her about it. Sandra’s the salt of the earth. She can take a joke—even at her expense—and don’t think she doesn’t give it back. She isn’t a fiery woman, but she’s damned stubborn. Her people were Steeles from Chicago. Her grandfather settled here and went into the textile business, just as my people had. It’s a major industry in this part of the state.”
“And you had your biggest branch in Charleston,” she recalled. “Not here.”
He smiled. “My mother’s people
were from Charleston,” he told her. “As a matter of fact, my grandfather’s father—my great-grandfather—was town marshal there for a while until he was killed trying to arrest a man. I still have the old pocket watch he carried, with his initials carved inside the back. It’s quite a treasure.”
“I guess so,” she agreed. She smiled and sighed. “I have a few treasures from my mother’s side of the family. An old Confederate pistol, and some crystal and silver. Not very much, I’m afraid. My people weren’t wealthy.”
“Neither were mine, honey, not at first. They came over here from Scotland with the clothes on their backs, and a lot of determination to make some kind of better life for themselves.”
“They seem to have done that,” she commented.
“Not without some effort. It still takes a lot of effort to coordinate the plants and keep them going.” He began to brood again, and she punched him in the arm playfully.
“All the more reason to get you back on your feet,” she said with a laugh. “Now, how would you like me to walk you around the yard a few times and teach you how not to trip over the roots of the oak trees?”
His head tilted back. “It would be like you to lead me right into the damned tree.”
“Who me?” she asked innocently.
“Yes, you, Snow White,” he returned. “But you’d better keep one thing in mind before you trip me up.”
“What’s that?” she asked, rising with him.
“If I fall, I’ll fall on you.”
She stared at his bulk and sighed with theatrical perfection. “Oh, my, I’d better make sure you don’t,” she told him. “I’d be a little flat bit of color on the ground, wouldn’t I?”
“If we fall,” he murmured, bending down, “I’ll have other things on my mind than leaving you flat.”
“Well, I won’t ask what,” she promised, taking his hand. “I’m a good girl, I am, and I’m not letting any lecherous tycoon lead me astray!”
He laughed as she helped him walk down the steps. It was a beginning at least.
CHAPTER FIVE
LATER IN THE upstairs bedroom that Maggie had been given for the length of her stay, she and Lisa sat talking after they’d dressed for dinner.
“I thought you were a goner,” Lisa said with a laugh, glancing at her older sister, who was wearing an emerald-green chiffon dress that matched her eyes.
“You weren’t the only one,” Maggie confessed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a shock that I couldn’t even fight back. When Randy mentioned that his older brother was Saxon Tremayne, I was sure my life was over.”
“He’s a dish, isn’t he?” Lisa murmured unexpectedly, her eyes calculating.
“Who? Randy?” came the dry reply.
“You know very well I meant Saxon,” Lisa said, pursing her lips.
Maggie’s eyes fell to the floor, to the white shag carpet that set off the royal-blue velvet bedspread on the four-poster and the heavy matching curtains at the windows. “I thought he hated me. I’m still not sure that he doesn’t. All this talk about helping him get his bearings might just be a cover-up, something to keep me here while he plots revenge.”
“If the way he was clinging to your hand was any indication, I wish Randy hated me that way.”
Maggie smiled. “He was making sure that if I ran him into a wall, I’d go too. What am I going to do about my job? You know they’ll never be able to go two weeks without me.”
“Everybody is expendable,” her sister reminded her. “They’d have to do without you if you died. Besides, I have a feeling that Mr. Tremayne has already taken care of it.”
She winced. “I never dreamed that it would be like this for him,” she murmured, her green eyes troubled. “Lisa, what if it was my fault? What if his sight never comes back?”
Lisa touched her arm gently. “Stop that. All you have to do is concentrate on helping him get his confidence back. And if you care as much as I think you do, that shouldn’t be very hard for you, should it?”
Maggie stood up with a sigh. “I know what I feel,” she confessed. “It’s what he feels that’s going to keep me up nights. I won’t worry about it right now though. We’ll go down and have supper, and then I’ll try to live one day at a time.”
“A very practical solution, if you ask me,” came the amused reply.
But Maggie didn’t feel practical. She felt confused, hungry, and frightened. Sitting next to Saxon at the long table under the crystal chandelier, she had a crazy impulse to get up and run.
He was as sensuous a man as any woman could ever have wanted, she thought, watching his beige silk shirt strain across his massive chest under the tweed jacket. The thick, dark shadow of hair-roughened muscles was just visible through the thin fabric. Maggie had never seen Saxon without a shirt, but she was suddenly aware that she wanted to. She wanted to touch him...
Shocked by the force of her own longing, she dug into her food with a vengeance, keeping hidden the eyes that he couldn’t see.
“You’re very quiet, Maggie,” he murmured gently.
She glanced up nervously and smiled, forgetting for an instant that he couldn’t see her. “I’m just busy concentrating on this delicious food,” she lied, adding silently, which could be cardboard for all my taste buds are telling me.
He cocked his shaggy head to one side, his dark eyes faintly amused. “Are you sure?”
“What do you think is the matter with me then?” she asked, taking the argument into his own camp. “That I’m sitting here mooning over you?”
He threw back his dark head and laughed, and Sandra and Randy stared at him, amazed. Apparently laughter was a rare commodity in the big dark man since his accident.
“Are you?” he asked. “Mooning, I mean?”
“If you must know,” she muttered, “I’m worrying about what I’ll do if you suddenly take a notion to drive when we go out in the morning.”
That brought laughter from the other members of the family as well and effectively ended his pointed questioning.
The next morning Maggie donned a pleated green plaid skirt and a green sweater with her bone-colored boots before she went downstairs. She felt a strange new excitement at the thought of being totally alone with Saxon, having him all to herself even for a few hours. It was something she’d dreamed about before the story broke and ruined things between them.
Saxon was already at the breakfast table, but the others were nowhere in sight.
“Maggie?” he asked softly, lifting his head when he heard her soft footsteps, and something in his tone made her blood run wild.
“Yes,” she replied, seating herself next to him at the long table. “I thought you said to get down here by seven.”
“I did.”
“But where are the others?” she persisted.
“Still in bed,” he murmured with a faint smile. “No need to rouse the whole household just because we’re going out, is there?”
“No, of course not.” She had to tear her eyes away from him. He was wearing a white turtleneck sweater under the same beige tweed jacket he’d been wearing the night before, with tan slacks, and Maggie thought he looked good enough to eat. “Would you like some more coffee?” she asked, lifting the pot.
“I haven’t had any yet,” he replied. “I was waiting for you.”
She smiled secretly. “Should I be flattered?”
“That would depend on how hungry I was,” he replied, “and I’m keeping that bit of information to myself. How about putting some eggs on my plate, honey? I sent Mrs. Simpson out to get the mail from our post office box.”
She obliged him, reaching for the platter of bacon and country ham when she’d put the eggs down. “Bacon or ham?” she asked.
“Bacon, but try the ham yourself,” he told her. “It came from the farm.”
She studied hi
m. The house was sitting on a lot of land, and she’d noticed the white-fenced pastures around it with curiosity. “Is this a farm?” she asked.
He grinned. “Very astute, Miss Sterline. Yes, it is a farm, and we raise most of our own meats and vegetables.”
She sighed. He was apparently more of an outdoorsman than she’d even guessed. That would make his blindness an added burden. She added a huge, fluffy caťs-head biscuit to his plate and her own.
“Butter?” she asked.
“Please.”
She buttered both biscuits quickly and told him where everything was on his plate, using the numbers of a clock as indication points. Surprisingly he didn’t make any snide comments about her directions as he began to eat—and without losing a single morsel.
“You’ve gone quiet again,” he mentioned after a minute.
“I was thinking that you must have enjoyed working around the farm...before,” she confessed.
His dark face clouded, and she could have bitten her tongue for the hasty remark. “Yes,” he said curtly. “I did a lot of riding as well.”
She looked up. “You could still ride, couldn’t you?” she asked.
“With a companion, I suppose so,” he said noncommittally. “Do you ride, Maggie?”
“A little.” She grinned. “I fall off if I have to go very fast, though.”
That seemed to restore a little of his lost humor. “You could ride with me,” he suggested. “I could hold you on, and you could point me in the right direction.”
She looked at him. Just the thought of being so close to him took her breath away. She could almost feel the warmth, the powerful muscles, against her. “Sure,” she countered. “And if you fell off, you’d take me with you and crush me!”
He looked toward the sound of her voice, his hard face with its strong lines sensual, like his voice when he spoke. “I’d like very much to crush you,” he murmured. “Under me. All of you.”
She felt the blush that ran into her cheeks and lifted the coffee cup to her lips. She wouldn’t have touched that line with a ten-foot pole.
“Won’t play?” he murmured with a wicked smile. “We’ll see about that. Finish your breakfast, honey. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”