Page 10 of Blind Attraction

She sucked in a breath, overwhelmed with…everything: his scent, his touch, his comfort. He placed a tender kiss on her forehead, and her control shattered. She let out a sob and squeezed her lids tighter. The burn of tears was excruciating. His kindness was too much.

Men weren’t meant to be like this. They weren’t kind-hearted or gentle or protective. Especially not strangers…or so her mother had led her to believe.

“I’m sorry. This is my fault. I knew seeing you again was too good to be true.”

His anguish gave her the determination to be strong. Lifting her chin, she smiled and placed a hand on his chest, pressing against the hard muscle beneath. “It’s not your fault. At least I’ll have a great story to tell my friends back home.”

Was it morally acceptable to tell a lie if part of the statement was true?

She honestly didn’t believe the situation was his fault, but she would never tell her friends back home. If her mother found out, she would worry herself into a stroke. It didn’t matter how old Alana became, her mom never stopped treating her like a fragile piece of porcelain waiting to be broken by a man.

Mitchell leaned in close and brushed his cheek against hers. “I hope by the time I let you go, you’ll have a far better story to tell.”

Anticipation skittered over her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps which distracted her from the pain. She was falling for a man she didn’t know and couldn’t even see.

He stepped back, and a slight sense of vertigo hit her mind. She wavered, wobbling in space. Within seconds his hands were back on her body, lifting her off the ground. She squealed as her arms flailed for something to grip. “What are you doing?”

He began to walk, sure and certain, her weight not hindering him in the least. “I’m getting you upstairs.”

Whispers passed her ears from people in the lobby while he cradled her in his arms, against his hard chest. He ignored her protests, and by the time they reached the elevator, she had relaxed and rested her hands around his neck.

Slowly she opened her lids, hoping for some improvement to the coarse scratching in her eyes, but the discomfort and lack of vision hadn’t changed. Fear bubbled in her belly and she silently let out a long breath, needing to calm the anxiety which tried to regain hold.

“I had an uncle whose eyes were damaged by hot metal shavings. He burned his eyelids and singed his brows as well.” His voice came soft and sweet while the elevator ascended. “The damage seemed horrific at the time. I remember overhearing my parents say he would probably lose an eye or go blind.”

Alana rubbed away the stray hair tickling her cheek. She didn’t want to become engrossed in a story that may have an ending which would break her heart.

“A few weeks later he was fine.”

She sighed in relief.

“I was young at the time, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t have surgery either. So I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

“I hope so,” she whispered and rested her head against his shoulder. Apart from helping out on her mother’s retreat, Alana captured breathtaking landscape images with her camera and sold them to a local art gallery. If she couldn’t see there would be no way for her to make extra money. She didn’t think there’d be much of a market for blind photographers.

The elevator dinged its arrival, and she heard the soft swoosh of the doors opening. Mitchell walked forward, not once needing to reposition her in his arms.

“You know my legs are still entirely functional, right?”

He chuckled, and the deep masculine sound made her smile. “Yeah, I know. But how cool was it to act like the macho hero in front of everyone in the lobby when I gallantly rushed you into my arms?”

She let out a bark of laughter and whacked him on the chest.

“I’ve always wanted to be a gentleman. I’ve just never had the opportunity.”

Alana couldn’t imagine him being anything but a gentleman. In the little time they’d spent together, he seemed genuine. Open. Trustworthy. All the traits her mother tried to convince her didn’t exist in a man.

“Who knows, maybe I might knock Lynch off the popularity pedestal for a little while.”

“Lynch?” She frowned, wishing she could see his eyes while they spoke.

Another chuckle sounded. “You’re not a fan of Reckless Beat, are you?”

She bit her lip, unsure if her honesty would upset him.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. You weren’t the screaming groupie type.” He wriggled his fingers against her ribcage, and she gasped at the tickling sensation shooting through her body. Before tonight, she would’ve agreed that she wasn’t the screaming groupie type. However, right now her lungs burned with something hot and needy, pleading to be released.

“Lynch is the lead singer. Mason Lynch. Blake, who I introduced you to before, is the bass guitarist. The guy on stage with the shoulder length wavy hair is Ryan. He plays rhythm guitar. Then there’s Sean on drums. But for the love of god, if you ever meet the guy, don’t tell him I mentioned his name last. He has an inferiority complex.”

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