Page 28 of A Touch of Dark
My fingers shake as I tug at my collar, but he assists me, revealing the thin blouse I didn’t intend to be seen in when I threw it on this morning. Knowing he’s blind doesn’t ease my nerves one damn bit.
It’s too close in here. I’m painfully aware of every brush of his unnervingly soft fingertips grazing the rent edges of my blouse.
“Take your arm out of the sleeve.”
I turn to the window, disguising how my cheeks flush. At least he sounds more efficient than predatory.
“Fine.” I bite my lip and undo the first four buttons, providing enough slack for him to slide the damaged sleeve down my shoulder.
“It isn’t deep,” he says. How he can tell as much from touch alone? I don’t bother asking. “You shouldn’t need sutures. Though…”
I wince as he runs his finger directly over the wound, heedless of the blood that coats it.
“This was made with a knife. You were assaulted.”
Hearing him say it makes it all too damn real.
“I’m fine.” I shrug him off and attempt to snatch the handkerchief back, but he pulls it out of my reach.
“I’m sure you are aware that your father has plenty of enemies. I should take you home. Or at least call the police—”
“Or you can let me out right here and leave me alone.”
He pauses as if mulling it over. But the doors remain locked—I’m sure I heard the driver engage them. Tension fills the air, feeding off the inescapable fact that he holds all the control.
“I’ve humored your valiant attempts to appear unaffected, Ms. Thorne,” he says, proving as much. “Don’t assume that you can lie to me. Even without my sight, I know that you’re trembling. That you came to me so hysterical my doorman broke protocol to let you in.”
Hysterical? I grit my teeth. “I’m fine—”
“I know that you were sobbing,” he continues over me. “And I played your game by not mentioning it before, but I know you’re crying even now.”
Damn him. I impulsively swipe at my eyes. They’re burning. Wet. Because I’m tired. I barely slept last night. The long work hours have strained my vision and triggered a pulsing headache. That’s why.
“You said youfell.” He voices the statement with a sudden concern that chafes against my already sore pride. “And yet you didn’t call your father or the police—”
“I didn’t come here for the third degree,” I snap.
“Sí. So why did you come, then?”
I glare out the window in lieu of answering right away. Blurred buildings pass by in a blend of color. We’re somewhere uptown, I assume, hopefully near enough to the Lariat that I could walk to it. My fingers twitch toward the door handle, but something keeps me from grabbing it.
Making a scene now would be both cathartic and utterly stupid.
Not that he’d allow you to embarrass him. The thought comes from someplace deep, impossible to suppress. When I finally let my hand fall, it isn’t out of fear. It isn’t.
“Are you going to paint me or not?” I demand, changing the subject when the silence becomes unbearable. “I can pay you, of course.”
“I don’t do it for money.” His voice dips down to that unsettling octave. Once again, he’s defensive. “And, as I said, we’ll discuss my terms and you can decide whether or not you will agree to them. Shall we?”
Huh? Startled, I glance out the window behind him. We’ve stopped. A high-rise towers above, formed of silver accents and polished glass. The restaurant he mentioned must be inside it. I start for the door, desperate to escape the tension—only to remember that my blouse is undone and I’m wearing one sleeve of my coat. I scramble to assemble myself while Damien patiently waits.
“Take your time, Ms. Thorne,” he says, his head cocked, his ears bared to catch my rapid breathing.
He and the driver must have a routine worked out. The other man exits the vehicle first but comes to my end. As I rush out, I turn and find Damien using his cane to maneuver around the car. A part of me wants him to trip. Stumble. Anything to prove that he’s human and not infallible.
As if to spite me, he mounts the curb without a hitch.
“Shall we, Ms. Thorne?” He starts for the building’s entrance, utilizing his cane. Near the doors, he pauses. “After you…”
