Harlequin Dare May 2021 Box Set Page 11

  I’d saved myself and I’d continue to do so.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ I said, changing the subject, abruptly sick of talking about myself and my failing vision. ‘What happened before?’

  She blinked. ‘Before?’

  ‘You got off the couch and just left. What was wrong?’

  ‘I...’ The shape of her shifted, moving to fold her arms. ‘You really want to talk about that?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I want to talk about that?’

  ‘It’s hardly important compared to—’

  ‘Compared to what? Me losing my sight? I don’t give a shit about that. It’s handled.’

  ‘If it’s handled, then why did you turn away and walk out of the kitchen? And why don’t you want to talk about it now?’

  ‘Because it doesn’t interest me.’ Losing patience, I crossed the room to where she stood then stopped in front of her. ‘You interest me, Maggie. And I want to know why you couldn’t wait to get away from me just before. Did I hurt you?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Magdalen

  TRAJAN STOOD IN front of me, radiating impatience and intensity. There was no sign of the shock that had rippled over his face back there in the kitchen when he’d knocked over the glass. Or the shuttered look that had followed it so quickly as he’d turned on his heel and left, heedless of the broken glass.

  It was weird, that response, and then this coldly controlled dismissal...

  He might not want to talk about the fact that he couldn’t see, or that he wasn’t interested in it, but it affected him all the same.

  He was shocked that I’d found out. He hadn’t wanted me to know; I was sure of it. And I got why. He was a proud man, a powerful man. A man in control. And having a degenerative disease such as retinitis pigmentosa, that had no cure and few treatments, was the ultimate loss of that control.

  So what did a man like Trajan do with when faced with something like that? Of course he’d try and exert control over whatever he could. And it made what he’d said about why he’d hired me understandable. I wasn’t angry about that. I got it. And I understood why he didn’t want to talk about it. Perhaps he talked about it a lot to people. Perhaps he didn’t want to be reminded of it, not now, here with me. Perhaps it was a weakness to him, or a loss he didn’t want to contemplate, or any one of a number of things.

  He didn’t want to be pitied, though, that was clear, and he really didn’t like the thought of me viewing him the way I viewed my other clients. Which, given how I’d talked about them, made sense. Yet I’d never seen him that way, because he wasn’t like them.

  He may not be sad, but he is lonely.

  Was he? Was he just as lonely as I was?

  My heart ached at that thought, just as it ached from the shock revelation of his sight loss.

  Everywhere I looked now I could see the evidence I hadn’t taken note of before. The exact way things were placed. No art on the walls. No knick-knacks. The coffee table had been pushed out of line, and I had a strong urge to go and push it back so it wouldn’t trip him up.

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ he said sharply. ‘It’s not relevant.’

  I glanced away from the coffee table and looked at him.

  He stood there in nothing but the soft, faded jeans that hung low on his lean hips, the light outlining every hard, chiselled muscle of him. The very epitome of male beauty, of power and control and strength...

  What had it been like for him to lose his sight? Had he accepted it? Had he fought it? Had it been terrifying for him? Had he had anyone to help him adjust?

  Why do you care? He’s right; it’s not relevant.

  I shouldn’t care. And I shouldn’t be thinking about it. Yet... I couldn’t stop. I wanted to know how he dealt with it, how he felt about it. I wanted to know what it had meant for him and why he was trying to hide it because, no matter what he said about experiments, he was trying to hide it.

  But he didn’t want to talk about it—not with me. And it wasn’t my place to make him. As he’d already said, I wasn’t his therapist or his doctor. I didn’t have the right to his secrets, even if I wanted them.

  You’re not entitled to them. Not when you’re only his whore.

  That thought hurt, but I ignored it.

  ‘Okay,’ I said softly and stepped forward, closing the distance between us. I put my hands on his chest, loving the feeling of warm skin and hard muscle beneath my palms. ‘No, you didn’t hurt me. I just felt a bit...overwhelmed.’

  His fingers caught my chin and he tipped my head up so his gaze met mine, narrowing into splinters of midnight blue. Could he see my expression? He wanted to; that was obvious, given the intent way he stared at me.

  In fact, I suspected that was why his stare was always intent. It wasn’t because he wanted to see me in particular. It was because he just wanted to see. It felt wrong to be disappointed by that, but I was disappointed all the same.

  ‘What were you overwhelmed by?’ he asked.

  I didn’t want to do this, all of a sudden. I didn’t want to stand there talking about me and my responses. If he didn’t want to talk about his sight loss, then that was fine, but I wasn’t going to have an in-depth discussion about my feelings for him either.

  I had to keep something back. I couldn’t give him everything.

  I slid my hands up to his shoulders and around the back of his neck, arching against him, pressing my bare breasts to his chest. ‘Stop thinking about that,’ I said huskily, looking him in the eye. ‘It’s not relevant.’

  His hands settled on my hips, warm and heavy, gripping me tight. But the expression on his face didn’t change, his blue gaze burning into mine. ‘You wanted real, Maggie.’

  ‘And real is sharing things, Trajan.’

  His black brows drew down in a fierce scowl. ‘You’re pissed I don’t want to talk about my sight loss?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I snapped back, the ache in my heart settling deeper. ‘You didn’t hire me for that, did you? And you didn’t hire me for discussions about our feelings. I’m just here to fuck you and that’s all.’

  It was wrong of me to fling back in his face what he’d said to me earlier. But I couldn’t get rid of the disappointment that sat so heavily inside me. It shouldn’t have mattered that I was just an experiment. A dupe. Someone to test himself on. While he’d been practising on me, pretending he was sighted, I’d been busily falling for him.

  Okay, so it turned out I did mind about that. I minded a lot.

  He went very still. Then, letting go of my hips, he cupped my face gently between his big, warm palms, that intent focus zeroing in on me. And, even though I knew it was only because he couldn’t see properly, my heart swelled, because it looked as though it was me he wanted to see. Me he had to look at.

  ‘I’m sorry I said that before,’ he said fiercely. ‘I didn’t say it to hurt you. I just... You finding out about my sight was a shock and I didn’t expect it. It’s been years since I knocked something over and I thought... Well, what I thought doesn’t matter. My pride was hurt, and I was angry about it, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.’

  My heart swelled even more, pressing painfully against my breastbone. He was sincere; I could see it in his eyes. A proud, controlled man, yet he wasn’t too proud or controlled to apologise and mean it.

  It made the ache inside me even more painful.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said.

  ‘No, it’s not okay. You’re upset.’ His thumbs stroked my face gently. ‘Don’t think I don’t know that. I can actually see your expression, by the way.’

  Damn him. Damn him for being so nice. For giving me another glimpse of the caring man he was under his cool reserve.

  ‘I love the way you look at me,’ I said in a rush, unable to stop myself. ‘I’ve always loved it. You...focus on me as if I’m the most
important thing in the world and you study me as if I’m the most interesting. And I thought it was because you actually did find me interesting, but...’

  ‘But now it’s because you think I was just squinting to see you,’ he finished for me.

  I could feel myself blushing. ‘Look, I know. It’s unfair of me to think that. I just...’

  ‘Wanted to be special to me?’

  The blush in my cheeks became fiery. I tried to pull away but he held me fast, kept me standing there, the tips of my bare breasts brushing against his warm, naked chest, the look in his eyes intensifying. ‘You are special to me,’ he said in a low, deep voice. ‘And, yes, sometimes I do look at people that way and it’s because I’m trying to see them. But it’s also because I want to see them. I want to see you.’ He paused a moment. ‘Do you know why the lights are all on tonight?’

  ‘Because you wanted to see me?’

  ‘Because I wanted to see you. Maggie, I’ve never seen your face before—not clearly. Not until tonight. And I wanted to. I wanted to see all of you, every part of you. That’s why I changed our contract. That’s why all the lights are on. Not because I wanted to have sex while I could see, but because I wanted to see you. I wanted to see your pleasure. I wanted to see what you looked like when you came. I wanted to see what you looked like when you blushed. I wanted to see your skin and your hair and your sweet little pussy.’

  His fingers tightened on me, my heart getting sorer and sorer. ‘And I wanted to see your smile, sweetheart. I wanted to see you laugh.’ His voice got rougher, deeper. ‘My sight has been stable for a long time, but...a couple of months ago it started to deteriorate again. My ophthalmologist isn’t sure if it’s going to stabilise, or whether I’ll lose it entirely, but I decided that if I didn’t get to see you at least once I’d never forgive myself.’

  He searched my face, his gaze full of nothing but truth. ‘And if I woke up one morning and it had all gone, my biggest regret would have been that I never got to see your face.’

  Tears pricked my eyes and I didn’t know what to say. My heart ached and ached.

  He’d wanted to see me. He’d wanted to see my face. He was going blind and he wanted to see me before he lost all his sight.

  My throat closed up and I couldn’t have spoken even if I’d wanted to. I’d never been that special, not to anyone. Not to my grandmother. Not to my mother. Strangers valued me, but there were plenty of beautiful women who could do what I did. I was replaceable.

  But Trajan had wanted to see me before he lost his sight completely. Me.

  I put my hands over his and I went up on my toes and pressed my mouth to his, letting my kiss say what I didn’t have the words for. What I was afraid to say, my fear sitting deep in that aching heart of mine.

  I’d wanted real, and this was starting to get more real than I’d ever thought it would. The kind of real that would hurt when tomorrow came and I had to walk away from him, because with every moment that passed it became clearer and clearer that that was the only option.

  I knew nothing about him. Nothing beyond the things he’d told me. But it was clear that he had a lot to manage. He didn’t need the woman he’d paid for to start putting her emotions onto him. To start asking him for things, for something that this was never supposed to have been about in the first place. That was why he’d spent money on me, after all. I was providing him with a service.

  For tonight we might be real with each other, but tomorrow that would be all over. And then the actual real would start. And that didn’t include him.

  There was pain somewhere inside me, but I pushed that thought aside for the moment. Right now, there was only the feel of his mouth on mine as I kissed him and the hot press of his tongue against my lips.

  I opened for him, letting him in, the kiss deepening, getting sweeter, hotter. Still kissing me, he pushed me gently up against the wall, pressing my sensitive nipples against the hard warmth of his bare chest. I shuddered with delight, squirming against him, sliding my arms up around his neck and arching into him.

  He shifted, pushing one powerful, denim-clad thigh between my legs and up against my pussy, pressing on my clit. I gasped as bolts of pleasure pulsed everywhere, making me tremble. His hands dropped to my hips, urging me closer, the hard muscle of his thigh providing the most exquisite friction.

  It was glorious. He was glorious.

  But I didn’t want this just to be about me now. I wanted to do something for him, to make him feel as good as he’d made me feel.

  Sure, he’d told me tonight was about my pleasure, and that his own wants were about watching me and seeing me. But didn’t he want something for himself? A fantasy of his own that had always turned him on?

  He’d given me my fantasy; why couldn’t I give him his?

  I pulled my mouth away and leaned back against the wall. His lashes were lowered—long, thick, black and silky. His gaze glinted from beneath them, hot and blue. My face was in shadow; he probably couldn’t see it clearly, but that didn’t stop him from staring at me.

  ‘What?’ His voice was gravel and velvet. ‘You want something in particular, sweetheart?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said huskily. ‘I want to do something for you.’

  ‘You are doing something for me. This whole night is for me.’

  ‘But I told you my fantasy and you gave it to me.’ I reached out, touching a finger to the smooth skin of his chest. ‘So now I want to give you yours.’

  The glint in his eyes became more pronounced. ‘If you think I didn’t get off on that, you can think again.’

  I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Okay, true. But still. I want to give you something, Trajan. You’ve made me feel so good tonight and now I want to return the favour.’

  He lifted a hand and put it down over mine where it rested on his chest, trapping it against his warm skin. ‘You already have.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? You don’t have any other fantasies you’re dying to try out?’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Trajan

  I COULD FEEL the heat of her pussy against my thigh, could smell the scent of musky aroused woman mixed with light coconut and vanilla. Her face was indistinct in this light, but I stared at it anyway.

  She didn’t need to offer me this. It wasn’t what I’d intended our night to be about. Her pleasure was about not having to be the one to give, but about receiving instead. That was why I’d told her that my sight was deteriorating.

  There had been disappointment in her voice, and I’d seen it in the set lines of her face too. The fact that I hadn’t wanted to talk about it had clearly upset her, though she hadn’t pushed me. She’d snapped, though, throwing the stupid comment I’d made earlier, about paying her for sex, back in my face.

  It was only what I deserved, but I hated that it had hurt her. Hated that I’d let my shock and anger at her finding out about my sight get to me.

  No, I hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but she deserved to know the reasons behind me hiring her for tonight. The real reasons. That it was about her. Seeing her pleasure. Her face. Her smile.

  Real is sharing things, Trajan.

  I’d never shared things with anyone before. I’d learned to keep my doubts and my fears to myself. My father had never wanted to hear them when I’d made the mistake of telling him about them when I was a kid, merely instructing me brusquely to shut up. Acknowledging a fear let it in, so if you were never afraid and never in doubt then you’d always triumph in the end.

  He was full of so much fucking shit, but he was right about that one thing: never acknowledge a doubt or a fear, otherwise you gave it power over you.

  I’d learned the truth of that the night of the accident as I’d hung upside down in the car, trapped by my seat belt, the only sound Susannah’s whimpers of fear and pain beside me, and I’d gradually understood that the reason why I couldn’t see a
thing wasn’t because it was very dark, or because I had something in front of my eyes, but because I was actually blind.

  I’d panicked that night. I’d let my fear get to me and the sounds Susannah made had terrified me—because I hadn’t been able to see her and she hadn’t been able to answer me. Then she’d fallen silent and that had been even more terrifying.

  I’d wasted precious seconds panicking, fumbling around for the catch of my seat belt and pressing it, then falling. There had been broken glass under my hands, the smell of spilled fuel in my nostrils and blackness pressing in all around me, suffocating me.

  To this day I don’t know how I managed to get out of that car. It certainly had been pure luck that my shaking fingers had found my phone, which had fallen out of my pocket and been thrown onto the road. I hadn’t been able to see the buttons and I couldn’t think. The blindness wouldn’t lift and I’d wasted more time panicking, desperately mashing buttons on the phone to call the emergency services.

  My panic had nearly cost Susannah her life.

  If you’d acknowledged the loss of your peripheral vision earlier, though, you might never have been driving in the first place.

  It was true. But that was another example of me letting fear get in the way. I should have admitted to myself that I was losing my vision. Instead I’d ignored it, too terrified at the thought even to acknowledge it.

  Perhaps that would have been okay if it had only been myself who’d got hurt, but it hadn’t been. My failure had extended to Susannah as well, and she’d had to spend months relearning how to walk.

  Dad had been wrong about that one fear. Refusing to acknowledge that I was gradually losing my sight had given it power over me, rather than the opposite, so these days I picked and chose my fears and my doubts.

  Ultimately, though, I preferred to handle them all myself and I did. And I didn’t share them with anyone.