Undone by His Touch. Annie West

pain, then what …?

      He exhaled slowly through his nostrils, his fingers tightening around hers. When he spoke there was resignation as well as an undercurrent of anger in his words. ‘Just lead me to a chair, will you?’

      ‘Lead …?’

      ‘Yes, damn it. Haven’t you realised you’re talking to a blind man?’

      CHAPTER TWO

      THE silence pounded with the beat of blood roaring in his ears. He held his breath with anticipation, waiting for the inevitable gush of sympathy.

      It was all he could do not to fling away from her.

      He didn’t want sympathy. He didn’t want company. But he couldn’t afford the luxury of managing for himself. He’d probably end up with a foot full of glass, or, having lost his bearings completely, a black eye from walking into the pergola.

      Almost he didn’t care. Yet he retained enough pride not to want to make a complete fool of himself before her. He did that often enough when he was alone.

      Frustration surged and his muscles tightened as he thought of his frequent tumbles, his inability to do half the things he’d always taken for granted.

      ‘Of course,’ she murmured. ‘I apologise. I hadn’t realised you couldn’t see.’ Her words were the same as before, cool, crisp, not a shred of syrupy sympathy and for a moment he stood, startled.

      Then she lifted his arm, wrapped hers around his torso and wedged her shoulder beneath his armpit. ‘If you lean on me it will be easier.’

      She might have been a nurse with her brisk practicality. If he was reasonable he’d be grateful for her no-nonsense attitude.

      But the soft press of her breast against his side, the cushioned swell of her hip against his thigh, the sudden scent of vanilla and sunshine as her hair tickled his bare chest and arm, made him anything but reasonable.

      How long since he’d held a woman close? Would he ever again?

      ‘No!’ Declan yanked his arm free, shoving her aside rather than feel the teasing brush of that rounded feminine form. ‘I can do it myself. Just show me the way.’ His other hand tightened around hers as frustration rose.

      ‘Very well.’

      Without another word she stepped forward, leading him. Declan put his weight on his good foot, and then supported himself on the ball of the injured one.

      She didn’t go too fast. Nor did she shilly shally and ask if he could keep up. It had taken him weeks to cure David of that and David was the best PA he’d ever had.

      ‘There you are. The chair is to your left.’ She took his left hand in hers and pulled him gently forward till he touched metal. ‘There’s the arm of it.’

      She said no more but waited till he manoeuvred himself round and down into the seat.

      ‘If you wait a few moments I’ll go and get the first-aid kit.’

      ‘I’ve got nowhere else to go.’

      There was an almost inaudible huff of sound, as if he’d surprised a laugh out of her. Then she was gone and he was alone.

      He should be used to it now, this sense of isolation. Sometimes it grew so intense it morphed into a crawling fear that one day he’d be left so completely alone in the dark he’d never be with others again. A childish terror, but one that still woke him in the middle of the night, chest heaving and heart pounding as he reached out, clawing at the inky darkness that enveloped him.

      Declan reminded himself that solitude was what he’d always come to the mountains for. A change from the hectic pace of his overloaded schedule. His usually overloaded schedule.

      No longer. He’d had to delegate more to keep up, despite David’s assistance.

      Anger, his ever-present companion, snarled in his veins—till he reminded himself he’d been the lucky one.

      Instantly the familiar fog of regret and guilt enveloped him. His stomach twisted. He should be thankful to have survived. Yet he couldn’t convince himself it was for the best. His failure made this prison of blankness even more unbearable. If only he’d …

      ‘Here you are. I’ve brought the first-aid supplies.’ That voice again, cool and clear, yet with a richness that made him wonder what her singing voice was like.

      ‘You had no trouble finding me, then?’ Sarcasm was poor repayment for her assistance, but the caged beast that raged and growled inside demanded outlet. Declan’s usual means of using up excess energy—skiing, climbing and sex—were denied him.

      Sex was possible, he supposed. He’d have to get someone like this efficient housekeeper to find and dial the numbers in his private directory. For a moment he diverted himself, wondering how she’d react if he asked her to ring his ex-lovers. Would she sound so prim and proper then?

      But he couldn’t stomach the thought of sympathy sex. For that was what it would be.

      Scorching anger churned in his belly. What woman would want him now?

      He refused to be the object of anyone’s pity, grateful for the crumbs they deigned to dole out now he was so much less than he’d been. Even the doctors played that game, holding out the possibility his sight might return, though never guaranteeing it.

      ‘Your foot must be paining you after all.’ He heard her put something on the paving stones.

      ‘You know that for a fact, do you?’ He’d got tired in hospital of the staff dictating what was best for him and how he should feel. Till he’d discharged himself early and come here to recuperate in private.

      ‘I’m guessing. You’re cranky, but I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt in thinking there’s a reason for your tone.’

      To his surprise, his mouth lifted in a twist of amusement that pulled unused muscles tight. He couldn’t remember smiling since the accident.

      ‘Where’s your sympathy for the poor maimed invalid?’

      ‘Probably the same place your manners are.’ She paused and lifted his foot carefully to place it on something cushioned. A towel on her lap? For some reason he rather enjoyed the idea of her kneeling at his feet.

      ‘Besides,’ she said as he felt gentle fingers touch his heel, ‘You’re not an invalid.’

      Declan’s mouth tightened and his hands curled into fists. Great, just great: another happy-clappy optimist. Just like the last rehab worker.

      ‘What do you call this, then?’ he jeered, jerking a hand in the direction of his glasses.

      ‘Just because you can’t see doesn’t mean you’re an invalid. The man I saw doing lap after lap in the pool was fitter and more agile than most people I know.’ Her hold on his foot changed. ‘This may hurt a little.’

      It hurt a lot, but Declan was used to pain now. Getting walking again on that bad leg had taken more guts and determination than anything he’d ever done. It had been harder even than turning his back on family connections when he was a kid determined to build a business his own way.

      ‘Most people can see what they’re doing.’ Was she deliberately obtuse?

      ‘Are you looking for sympathy?’

      ‘No!’ Not that. Just …

      Hell. He didn’t know what he wanted. Just that he was tired of do-gooders telling him to look on the bright side.

      ‘Good.’ She pressed something to his heel. ‘This is just to stop the blood. I don’t think it needs stitches but I’d like the bleeding to slow before I dress it.’

      ‘You’re one tough cookie—is that it?’ For the first time he wondered what sort of person his housekeeper was. What had made her so cool and