Awakened by His Touch (12 page)

Of course.
‘Did we pass?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think that means you’ve seen everything we needed to show you.’

I think that means it’s time for you to go.

But Elliott going was not something Laney was prepared to acknowledge just now. ‘Well, then, that’s a conversation for tomorrow. Between all of us.’

Because she was no more willing to speak for Morgan’s
than she was to accept praise for all of its achievements. Morgan’s
was a family brand and this would be a family decision.

‘Does that mean you’re staying in the city tonight? I got the spare room ready in case.’

‘I think that would be hard to explain to my parents.’
Oh, you coward
. ‘But I thought...to save you driving back down on Sunday...’

‘You want me to stay over on the farm tonight?’

His question—practically pressed into her flesh like Braille by the rumbling of his chest so close behind her—was full of speculation and promise. And her mind was suddenly filled with thoughts she shouldn’t be having.

Of a late-night visit to the chalet on the end.

Of whether he’d open the door before she knocked.

Of whether his bed could fit two.

Not a question she’d ever imagined herself asking about the Morgan chalets. But instinct was a demanding mistress, and right now it was demanding she did not expose herself to any more risk than flying two hundred and fifty metres above a shark-infested ocean.

What did she want, exactly?

‘I don’t want to waste any more of your time if our answer is going to be no.’

And suddenly the prospect of him actually leaving ballooned large in her consciousness. These might be the last hours she’d have with him. Her fingers curled more tightly around the harness. As though it was his hand.

‘I told you,’ he murmured. ‘It hasn’t been a waste.’

Slowly, subtly, she felt the tug on the harness change direction.

‘Are you ready for it to be over?’

She gasped. Could he read her mind?

‘Danny’s taking us back,’ he breathed down on her.

Oh. No, she wasn’t ready—but what possible excuse could she give him for staying up here for ever? Other than wanting it so? ‘He probably wants his turn.’

‘You’ve got him pegged already.’

The tug of descent against their straps was subtle but undeniable. Time to go back to the real world.

‘What do you do up here when you’re on your own?’

‘Think...’ His heart hammered against her back. ‘Breathe, mostly. The rest of the world is a long way away from here.’

Elliott concentrated on the descent, freeing Laney to concentrate on him, and on the feel of his strong thighs below hers as she practically sat in his lap thanks to the orientation of the harnesses. He smelled salty, the sun’s heat simmered in his thick wetsuit as she leaned back into him, and his mumured instructions to Danny—who couldn’t possibly hear them—rumbled in his chest.

Misfit’
s engine got louder and louder and then Elliott tensed and bent to her ear. ‘Ready, Laney? Straighten your legs and don’t go to the ground. Just start running when you feel the sand. Stay upright.’

She pushed her pelvis forward to force her legs into a downward position and immediately missed the comfort and security of Elliott’s body curled around hers. But landing safely pushed those thoughts from her head and she set her legs moving the moment she felt his begin to run.

And then there was sand.

And then there was
a lot
of sand.

Her legs, deprived for so long of natural blood flow, and taken by surprise by its sudden return, instantly turned to a blaze of pins and needles and gave way completely the moment they were faced with actual gravity.

Her tumble meant she snarled Elliott’s legs and he tumbled, too, and the two of them were tugged along the sand for some distance by the still buoyant sail.

Finally it dumped them in a tangle of limbs, harnesses and cords before settling to the sandbar.

‘
Oof
—’ Elliott’s sudden weight across her pushed the air from her lungs and ejected the mouthful of sand she’d ended up with.

‘Are you okay?’

Close and breathy. And urgent. And very masculine, pressing down on top of her.

She struggled against the singing of her skin. And the creativity of her imagination. ‘Are you asking about my dignity?’

The chuckle rumbled from his body into hers. ‘I’m asking about your bones and internal organs.’

She surveyed them all briefly as he untangled more of the harness. Everything seemed to move as it should. ‘All intact, I think. Unlike my pride.’

He paused. ‘Well, don’t worry. This isn’t my finest moment either.’

‘At least I’m not witness to your humiliation.’

‘No, but bloody Danny is. I won’t hear the end of it.’

Sure enough, unbridled laughter drifted towards them on the lap of waves coming from the boat. He levered his weight off her and pushed to his feet, then reached down and took her hand. She was upright in a moment.

‘Send me up with him, then, and let’s see how
he
does, landing with a potato sack strapped to his chest.’

‘No chance.’

The vehemence in his voice took her by surprise. Standing this close to him, it wasn’t hard to orientate her face up to his.

‘Was I actually dangerous?’ Had she put Elliott at risk?

‘No. I wouldn’t leave you alone with him for fifteen seconds, let alone fifteen minutes.’

‘Why not? Isn’t he your friend?’

Methodical hands brushed the sand off the rest of her—methodical, yet somehow not...indifferent. And still super-warm.

‘Yes, and I know him too well to trust him with you. I could barely trust myself. Why are you smiling?’

Because she liked knowing that their flight had been challenging for him too. ‘I doubt it would have been the same with Danny. He’s smaller than you. It would have been a totally different fit.’

A hint of a choke coloured his voice. ‘You could tell that from shaking his hand?’

‘He went out of his way to press against me when he helped me onto the boat. I just extrapolated outwards. Am I wrong?’

‘No,’ he breathed. ‘You never are.’

They stood there, still partly bound together though the parachute no longer tethered them in a tangled mess. The masculine scent of him swilled around her despite the gentle ocean breeze, stealing the air from her lungs. And all she could think about was kissing him.

This was exactly the right moment for it, and he’d virtually warned her that it would be coming.

Her lips parted.

‘So, was it everything you hoped for?’

‘Wh...What?’ Disappointment surged through her at conversation instead of kissing.

‘The flight.’

‘Oh. Yes, definitely. You’re very lucky you get to do this regularly.’

He plucked a strand of windblown hair from her face and the echo of his touch tingled against her skin. Okay, so he was working his way up to a kiss.

‘Not too regularly. I don’t want it to ever stop feeling special.’

She licked her salt-coated lips and teased him. ‘Oh, that’s right.
The build-up is the best bit.
’

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘On the contrary.’ Right now she found it totally believable.

He shuffled in the sand. ‘Put your arms out, Laney.’

Deep and low. And typically demanding. But she complied because she wanted nothing more this very moment than to wrap her arms around all his heat. She gave them an extra hint of width to accommodate his big body. And then she held her breath.

Nothing happened, and then...canvas and buckles clanked in a big pile into her outstretched arms.

‘Hang on to this and I’ll guide you back to the boat.’

Disappointment surged in where tingles had been only moments before as she curled her arms around the tangle of harness to stop it from falling straight through onto the sandbar.

Seriously? No snatched moment like in the car earlier? No taking advantage of post-flight euphoria? Just...back on the boat? But she wasn’t about to beg, and she sure wasn’t going to let him see her disappointment. She averted her eyes and concentrated on taking as good care of the harness as the harness had taken of her.

But instead of holding out his forearm for her to take, Elliott curled his fingers through hers in a good old-fashioned hand-hold and led her towards the splash of the surf.

‘The water’s clear,’ he murmured. ‘And the boat is a ten-metre wade out. When we get there I’ll pull you up.’

They passed Danny midway, coming in for his turn, and Laney threw him a big smile of gratitude for piloting the boat for her amazing experience. She hoped he was too absorbed in himself to examine the smile too closely, in case it looked as hollow as it felt.

She shouldn’t care.

She certainly shouldn’t let one absent kiss suck all the joy from her otherwise amazing afternoon. She’d taken her first speedboat trip. She’d
flown
, for crying out loud—hovered two hundred and fifty metres above the world like one of her bees on the breeze. That already made this day exceptional.

A kiss would have been wasted on it, really.

Elliott let go of her hand and placed it on
Misfit
’s hull and Laney felt the dip and slap of the boat as he hauled himself up into it. A moment later he relieved her of her harness and a moment after that he was back, both hands strong and sure in hers as he pulled her up to safety, her feet walking up the hull of the boat and then over the edge. She slid down the length of his body until cool deck pressed into her feet.

Totally wasted...

Yep. She’d just keep telling herself that.

CHAPTER NINE

A
MAZING
HOW
EXHAUSTED
she felt, given she’d pretty much done nothing but sit—or hang in space—all day. Must be the sea air. Elliott had taken his time giving his friend a good run on the parasail and she’d snuggled down in the boat’s comfortable leather seats and enjoyed the sea air.

As she’d slid down the length of Elliott reboarding
Misfit
she’d realised his wetsuit hung, unzipped, from his hips—which had given her a startling but not entirely unwelcome flesh memory of broad shoulders, firm chest and belly, and the strong arms that had hauled her up out of the water onto the boat. And that was how she ‘saw’ him now. As a sensory memory of heat and salt and smell and soft skin over firm muscle.

Who needed vision?

‘You still awake?’

She turned towards the honey tones of his voice in his comfortable Audi. ‘Yes.’

‘Your eyes were closed.’

Her smile was as lazy as his voice. ‘Takes energy, keeping them open.’

‘Have I worn you out?’

‘Just about. It’s a good feeling.’

‘Why do you have your eyelids open at all?’ he asked. ‘Generally speaking.’

‘The natural resting place for eyelids is half closed, and that seems to creep sighted people out, so when I was little Mum just trained me to open them up, regardless.’

‘For the comfort of others?’

For her survival. ‘My entire childhood was a push-pull between my mother wanting to help me fit in and my father ensuring I never could.’

Whoops... Had she said that out loud? Clearly she was more tired than she’d realised. Certainly she hadn’t meant it to sound so bitter.

‘My mother was the very definition of “don’t rock the boat”,’ he said. ‘That’s not exactly what you want in a parent either. A little fight is a good thing.’

‘A little, maybe.’

‘You came out okay.’

‘Chalk it up to my mother’s moderating influence.’

‘Something else to be grateful to her for, then. I get to look into your eyes when we speak.’

‘Even though I’m not in there?’

His pause went on for moments. ‘Laney, just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I can’t see you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘At least I try to.’

‘Really?’

‘Do you imagine your eyes don’t carry intelligence? Meaning? Or that they’re not a window to who you are?’

‘Honestly, I don’t know what to imagine. I have no idea what someone would see in someone else’s eyes, sighted or otherwise. Aren’t they just...eyes?’

‘Oh, no. Not at all.’

‘What do eyes do that’s so interesting?’

‘They sparkle. They challenge. They contradict. They lie. They reveal. They pretty much show what someone is feeling regardless of what they are saying.’

That sounded awful. ‘How do you keep a secret?’

‘Some people don’t.’

‘So the whole “window to your soul” thing is actually true? I thought it was just a pithy saying.’

‘Depends on whether there’s much of a soul to be seen.’

Flat. Almost lifeless. Was he thinking about someone in particular?

‘It’s different, though, right? Knowing I can’t see you back?’

‘It’s different, yes. But not worse necessarily.’

She turned fully towards him, as if the change of angle would help her pick up more of the vibes he unintentionally gave off. ‘You think it’s better that I can’t see you?’

‘If you’re asking me whether I’d prefer to be able to make actual eye contact with you, yeah, of course I would. I’d love to be able to look in your eyes and have you
see
me. Read me. Know me. But too much eye contact is confrontational for most people. Sometimes you want to really look at a person but you can’t because it’s socially inappropriate.’

‘And you can look all you want at me?’

‘Your eyes are busy doing a lot of interesting other stuff when they’re not seeing,’ he murmured. ‘And they tell me a lot more about you than you necessarily do.’

She turned her face back to the oncoming road, screening him from the very organs that they’d been discussing. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him being able to
see
her quite that much. It felt like an unfair advantage.

‘Why would my body use my eyes without my consent?’

‘Why does a blind woman use any of the facial expressions you use? Expressions you’ve never seen or learned. Clearly some things are just innate. Joy and anger and unhappiness—’

She frowned again.

‘—and consternation. Yep, you use that one a lot. I think the rest of us grow up learning how to disguise our expressions more than anything, so yours—when you have them—flash in neon.’

‘Neon?’

‘Bright light.’

‘Not literally, I assume?’

His chuckle warmed her through.

‘No, not literally. But they’re very...honest. Do you want a real world example?’

Yes.
Yes, she did.

‘Today, on the sandbar, you were disappointed I didn’t kiss you.’

She shot upright in her seat and only then realised how comfortable she’d become in it. ‘I was not!’

‘Yeah, you were. I could tell.’

‘No, you couldn’t.’

‘You worked hard to school your features, but your eyes screamed disappointment.’

Oh, and didn’t he sound pleased with himself about that?

‘They did not...’ But it wasn’t very convincing, even to her own ears.

‘I wanted to kiss you,’ he murmured.

Air was sucked into her lungs. ‘Why didn’t you?’

‘Because of something Danny said. It made it feel not right.’

Danny, who hadn’t had a single meaningful thing to say all day? ‘Danny told you not to kiss me?’

‘Danny told me not to take advantage of you. In the afterglow of the flight. And it got me thinking. When I kiss you again I want you to be one hundred per cent present and clear-headed. Not all dosed up with adrenaline.’

When.
Not
if.

She folded her arms across her chest. ‘You’re assuming a lot. I’m not sure I want to kiss you again.’

‘Yeah, you do.’ His voice was rich with a smile.

Yeah. She did. She dropped her head and cursed under her breath. ‘How do any of you have any privacy?’

‘We spend a lot of time not looking at each other, I guess—’

No doubt.

‘And not being entirely honest with each other.’

‘Clearly a survival strategy I need to work on.’ Though how exactly did one begin to train eyes that had gone rogue not to give away her deepest secrets? And who knew she’d still find anything in life yet to be perfected?

‘Don’t joke, Laney. Your honesty is a strength, not a weakness.’

‘It’s a vulnerability.’

‘You don’t want to be vulnerable?’

‘I don’t care for being exposed.’

The concept hung out there, thick and real.

‘Fair enough. How about this? Whenever I’m reading your face I’ll let you know. So we’ll be equal.’

‘So I’ll at least know if my privacy is being breached?’

‘Come on, Laney. It’s not like you don’t read the slight tone-shifts in my voice or the temperature-changes in my skin.’

She laughed at the thought.

‘I give you my word, as a gentleman, that I will be honest with you about what I’m thinking and seeing when I look at you. If you’ll extend me the same courtesy about reading me.’

‘I’m always honest with you.’

‘You don’t lie. That’s not necessarily the same thing.’

His words sank in. He had a point. She
did
read people—read Elliott—in a dozen ways he probably wasn’t aware of, so was it really any different from him reading whatever messages her eyes were apparently giving off?

Honesty wasn’t really all that much to ask for. Or to expect.

She took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Can we start right now?’

‘Sure.’ Though he’d never sounded less sure.

‘I feel like you’re working up to kissing me now, and I...’

Ugh, honesty wasn’t much fun.

‘And you don’t want that?’

‘No.’

Hurt tinged his words like a barely perceptible harmonic. ‘Can I ask why?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Because I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. Kiss you. Tonight, at the chalet. And I’ve kind of talked myself into how that’s going to go.’

The hurt morphed into a tightness. ‘And how
is
it going to go?’

She lifted her chin. ‘Really well.’

Maybe eyes did a lot more than he’d said, because she was pretty sure she could feel his boring heat into her very soul.

‘Far be it from me to ruin a good plan.’

* * *

Laney checked in with her parents so they knew she was back and then begged off to go and have a much needed shower. To wash the salt from her skin and hair. To make herself beautiful. Not that she knew what that was or, until today, why anyone would bother.

But now she got it.

This
was why they bothered. This gorgeous anticipation.

She wanted Elliott to open that chalet door and see her standing there looking pretty. Better than pretty, really. But short of inviting her mother in here and explaining what she was up to that wasn’t going to happen. And if she trusted Owen with the task she couldn’t guarantee what she’d end up looking like. So she’d just have to work with what she had. Kelly had used her as test dummy enough times that she left a small make-up kit in her bedroom perpetually, the contents personalised to her, and she hunted it down now and quickly fingered her way through it, opening lids and testing the contents. Isolating the bits she recognised.

Mascara. Lip-gloss. Loose powder. All past their best-by date, probably.

Not much she could do wrong with any of them if she was careful. Even so, it took her an eternity to apply them, and she was conscious the whole time of Elliott sitting in his chalet, wondering if she’d forgotten. Or just chickened out.

She almost did. Twice. But determination had never been her weak point, so she ran her brush through her hair one last time and whistled for Wilbur. He came running in from the other room, all toasty and sleepy from the fire, a disbelieving little yowl in his voice when she produced his harness.

‘We won’t be outside for long,’ she promised. ‘Then you’ll be warm again.’

And so would she. Extremely warm. Fingers crossed.

The audacity of what she was about to do hit her then. A clandestine meeting with a man. A man from the city. A man she might not see again after this weekend.

But then wasn’t that part of the attraction? And the excitement? And she was twenty-five years old. It was time.

‘Hey...’ She poked her head around Owen’s bedroom door.

The rustling told her he was pushing to his feet. ‘What do you need?’

‘Nothing. Just...is my face okay?’

Ugh... How ridiculous.

Confusion coloured his response. ‘Compared to who?’

‘No. I mean, does it look okay? Nothing out of place?’

‘Is that—?’

‘Forget it.’

‘No...wait. Are you wearing
make-up
?’

‘Is it or isn’t it applied correctly?’

‘Is.’ Typical Owen shorthand. ‘Did you do it yourself?’

‘Yes.’ Why else would she be humiliating herself like this?

‘Why?’

‘Thanks, O.’

‘Wait—!’

But no way was she going to explain a thing to her twin brother.

Wilbur hurried her more than usual through the still garden and she barely had to tell him where they were going. As if it was such a given. Within minutes her knuckles were on the glossy wood of Elliott’s door.

‘Hey,’ he breathed as warm air spilled out onto her. ‘I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.’

‘Sorry, I was—’
obsessing like a teenager over something that probably doesn’t matter
‘—caught up.’

‘Your parents?’

‘No, they’ve gone to bed.’

‘Come on in. It’s cold.’

Wilbur didn’t wait to be asked twice and Elliott chuckled as he scrambled in, claws clattering on the timber floors.

‘Watch yourself,’ Elliott muttered as he helped her up the steps. ‘There are candles...well, pretty much everywhere.’

‘Where did you get candles?’ Though what she really wanted to ask was why.

‘I found a packet of tealights in the bottom drawer. For power outages, presumably.’

‘And you thought I’d enjoy them?’ she teased.

‘I thought I’d enjoy looking at you in candlelight.’

‘Well, that seems to be a waste of perfectly good make-up, then.’

He stopped so suddenly she walked right into him. ‘You put make-up on?’

‘You can’t tell?’

His heat increased marginally as he stepped closer. ‘Is that strawberry lip-gloss?’

Really? He had to ask? The scent of it was pulsing off her.

‘Some kind of berry.’ Her tongue dashed across her lips without being asked. ‘It’s very sweet.’

Elliott’s voice dropped to a half-growl. ‘I’ll bet.’

In the silence Wilbur harrumphed and found himself a comfortable spot to flop down.

‘So, where are all these candles?’

‘Just avoid anything above elbow-height; that should do it.’

‘That’s not all that helpful.’

His low chuckle tickled the hairs on her whole body. ‘Okay, how about we just sit on the sofa.’

Sofas were generally candle-free. ‘Okay.’

‘Anything you need I’ll bring to you. This is a full service date.’

‘Is it a date?’

‘I consider this a continuation of the first date, so...yeah.’

‘Okay.’

Wow. She was rocking the vocab tonight.

‘Wine?’

Her, ‘Yes, please!’ was almost unseemly in its haste. But when Elliott pressed a glass stem into her hand and she lifted it to her lips she discovered the rather dramatic downside to flavoured lip-gloss. ‘Ugh, this wine is
not
enhanced by berry flavour.’

‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you something to take it off with.’

She felt the coffee table to her left and placed her glass down as he pushed out of his seat. But then his hands were at her shoulders, gently pressing her back into the sofa, and his lips were close against hers.

‘I seem to be out of make-up wipes,’ he murmured.