CHAPTER TWO
Trajan
I COULD SEE her face clearly for the first time in the bright light and it stole all the breath from my body. The rest of her—the entire rest of the room—was just a blurry smear of colour, but I didn’t give a shit about that.
All I wanted was to see her and I still had enough central vision for that at least.
She stood against the windows and, given that some of the blurry colour was red, I assumed she was wearing a red dress. Her face was perfect and heart-shaped with straight, golden, silky brows, a wide, generous mouth and a pointed, determined chin. Her eyes were very dark, which was unusual, given the riot of thick golden curls that framed her features.
She looked exactly like her photo on the Company of Strangers website, but a photo couldn’t capture the expressiveness of her features or the sheer warmth of her presence. She had a light inside her and I could see it; she just fucking glowed.
I’d caught glimpses of her every time she arrived on my doorstep for our evenings together, but never for long, because I kept the lights in the apartment low at night so I could practise not having any vision at all—I was night-blind—but of course that meant not seeing her.
Tonight, though, was different.
Tonight, I wanted to see her.
I’d had months of her warm presence, her husky, sweet voice, her expensive floral perfume and the much simpler coconut and vanilla scent that lay underneath it.
That scent had been taunting me at every meeting, a hint of a different woman beneath the polished responses of the highly paid, professional escort. A woman I’d slowly uncovered over the course of months. A woman who’d kissed me at our last meeting two weeks ago, before escaping my penthouse as though it had been on fire.
I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. Not when that kiss had changed everything.
That kiss had changed me.
Sex hadn’t been the point of our contract when I’d initially booked her—all I’d wanted was someone to practise not being able to see on—someone who didn’t know me, who I could spend a social evening with and discover if I could adapt enough that they wouldn’t be able to guess.
I was the CEO of Howard and Hart, a company that my best friend Eli Hart and I had started and subsequently grown into a multi-billion-dollar business off the back of a patented material used in the making of specialised body armour. We’d initially targeted the military, but had soon branched out into commercial applications, and that had sent the company into the stratosphere. And I absolutely refused to let my blindness get in the way of its success.
Reading people’s faces was important when it came to managing meetings and dealing with people, so I would have to learn how to read them without sight. From the way they spoke, their intonations and inflections. Learn to be alert to the sounds of movement too, since fidgeting could betray someone just as sitting still could.
My meetings with Honey were supposed to help me with that. As I learned how to read her, so I learned how to read other people. It was also important to me that no one guessed that I was losing my sight. Of course, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide it for ever, but up until then I wanted to remain in full control of the process.
Remaining in full control of every aspect of my life had always been imperative and it was even more so now.
At first I’d simply wanted to see if I could get through one evening without giving myself away, and when I hadn’t that evening had become two, then three and then more. Then she’d kissed me, and practising being blind was the last thing on my mind. Now, all I could think about was sex.
I wasn’t sure why she’d run out, but I’d thought that maybe it had something to do with our existing contract, by which even touch wasn’t permitted. She was a good girl at heart—I’d learned that much about her—and I knew she took her job and her contracts very seriously. The kiss had been a major breach and perhaps that had worried her.
So, since I was the one who’d hired her in the first place, I’d decided to change the contract. I was going to lose my vision—my ophthalmologist had been very clear about that—but before I lost it I wanted a night with the woman whose presence was starting to consume my every waking thought.
A relationship would never be an option for me—not with her, not with anyone—but one night would be enough. One night, no holds barred. Indulging in everything I’d fantasised about in the silence of the apartment after she’d gone, her scent lingering in the air.
One night when there would be no other clients and no contracts. Where she was mine and mine only.
I kept very still, not wanting to move in case she ran again, because I could sense her tension. I’d sensed it the moment she’d stepped into the apartment.
In the small circle of my vision, I could see expressions ripple over that beautiful face of hers—shock, mainly—and then she turned slightly away, the bright gold of her curls obscuring her features.
I gritted my teeth at the loss. I could take a couple of steps to the side to keep her face in view, but even so it would remain in shadow, and therefore I wouldn’t be able to see it.
Shit.
I stared hard at the mass of golden curls, trying to get a sense of what she was feeling. She was so expressive I could almost always tell her mood the moment she arrived, and really, this was no different.
Tension filled the air around her and the space between us, and I could feel it getting tighter and tighter.
‘You don’t want this,’ I said, my voice on the edge of a growl, a sharp and bitter disappointment collecting inside me. It wasn’t a question; her feelings on the subject were leaking into the air around us, making it very obvious.
She didn’t reply immediately and I concentrated on the sound of her breathing. It was faster than normal, agitated. ‘Trajan...’ Her sweet voice was huskier than usual, a thread of distress running through it.
I knew every inch of my apartment. I knew the measurements of every room, the exact distances between the door and the bed. From the couch to the table. From the stove to the counter. Every single one. I knew every object and where it had been placed. The bowl of fruit on the counter. The pile of magazines on the coffee table.
I kept the lights low at night on purpose so I could practise navigating it with no sight, so when I took a couple of steps towards her, wanting to get a clearer picture of what was she was thinking and feeling, I didn’t hesitate or stumble because I knew exactly where I was in relation to everything else.
I hadn’t meant this little experiment to last for longer than a couple of weeks. A few meetings to enable me to adapt to interacting with people without sight, and then that was supposed to have been it.
Yet I’d found myself booking more evenings with her, and a couple of weeks had stretched into months, and instead of focussing on how to read people, I found myself obsessed with how to read her.
And, yes, she was definitely distressed now; I could almost feel it in the air around me.
‘It’s not as simple as that,’ she murmured at last, her head turning once again so she was looking at me. Her dark eyes widened slightly when she realised I was closer than before, but the aching regret in her expression didn’t change. ‘I can’t, Trajan. I can’t.’
The bitter disappointment coiled inside me, squeezing tight, and I tried to ignore it. Because it shouldn’t matter. What did I care if she didn’t want to have sex with me? There were plenty of women who did; I had no shortage of takers.
But of course, it wasn’t just sex that was the issue. It had never been the issue.
The issue was that I wanted sex with her.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans, my fingers curling into fists. Normally I had no problem keeping my emotions buried, but Honey always seemed to find them. I didn’t know why and I still didn’t. There was just something about the warmth of her pres
ence and the sweet note in her voice that dragged them to the surface again and again, and had done since the day I’d first met her.
‘You’re Honey?’ I’d asked the first night she’d arrived at my doorstep. The lights in the hallway had been low so I hadn’t been able to see her. She’d been only a faint blur in the darkness.
‘That’s me,’ she’d replied, the sweet, textured sound of her voice enveloping me in warmth. ‘And what should I call you?’
‘Trajan,’ I’d said without thinking, giving her my real name.
‘A Roman emperor, huh?’ Amusement had coloured her tone. ‘I like it. Pleased to meet you, Trajan.’
I’d heard the chime of bracelets and knew she’d lifted her hand and was presenting it to me to take. My first challenge and I’d already fucked up by giving her my real name, too mesmerised by the sound of her voice.
However, I wasn’t going to fuck up again, so I levelled my gaze to where I estimated her face was and I put out my hand, my fingers connecting with a soft, warm palm. ‘Pleased to meet you, Honey,’ I’d said, and as I’d wrapped my fingers around her small hand I’d felt the lightning strike of sexual attraction hit.
Right then, my fate had been sealed.
‘Explain, then,’ I demanded now, the authoritative control freak in me asserting itself. ‘Because it seemed like you might want it two weeks ago.’
‘I know.’ Silky lashes lowered, veiling her gaze. ‘That was...a mistake.’
The disappointment bit deeper, even though I tried not to let it, the memory of that kiss seared into my brain. Sitting on the couch in this very room sipping brandy with her beside me, with Billie Holiday crooning softly in the background. She’d taken her shoes off—I’d heard the thump as they’d hit the carpet—and she’d curled up. The subtle tension that I’d sensed when I’d met her must have been nerves because, the more we’d seen of each other, it had eased, until it was completely gone.
She’d been utterly relaxed as she’d sat beside me, the warmth of her body tantalising as the conversation had turned to more personal topics. She’d told me about her shitty upbringing after her mother had gone to jail on drugs charges and she’d had to go and live with her grandmother—who, from the sounds of it, had been very grudging with her care. And so I’d found myself reciprocating, talking about my exacting father, who’d always expected excellence, and how I’d delivered on a regular basis, arrogantly sure of myself and my abilities, believing myself to be bulletproof, until the car accident that had nearly killed me and Susannah, my girlfriend at the time.
I hadn’t gone into detail, but she’d picked up on the horror of it all the same. And that was when I’d felt her hand on my thigh, a reassuring touch that had seemed to short-circuit my brain. I hadn’t sensed her move, too busy absorbing every aspect of that light touch; but then had come the lightest brush of her mouth on mine, a searing moment of contact that had changed everything.
Because she wasn’t supposed to touch me. She wasn’t supposed to kiss me. That was in the contract she and I had both signed, and which she’d explained that first night as we’d dealt with what she’d termed ‘housekeeping details’; she’d made it clear that she viewed that contract as sacrosanct.
But she’d broken it that night. She’d shattered it completely, and with it the leash I’d kept on my own control.
‘That wasn’t a mistake.’ My voice was too sharp, but I didn’t care. ‘You must know that I’ve wanted you from the moment you turned up on my doorstep.’
‘But we can’t let that—’
‘And you wanted me too; don’t deny it.’ Disappointment had turned to anger and I had to fight to lock it down.
You’re letting this mean too much. Get it together.
I couldn’t allow the emotion curdling in my gut to take control. Besides, her wanting me or me wanting her made no difference. If she didn’t want it, she didn’t want it, and that was the end of the story.
‘Okay, so I did,’ she said quietly. ‘But...’ I heard her take a little breath. ‘But I can’t take it any further. We can’t take it any further.’
‘It’s just one night,’ I bit out. ‘That’s all I’m asking for. One last night together. So don’t you want it to be something special?’
CHAPTER THREE
Magdalen
HE STOOD UNDERNEATH another spotlight, the light glossing his inky-black hair, the starkly masculine planes and angles of his face thrown into sharp relief. His whole posture vibrated with tension, the intensity in his expression catching me by the throat and squeezing tight.
He wanted me, and he wanted me badly.
The longing that gripped me was so strong that for a moment I could hardly breathe. Because he wasn’t wrong: I did want him, and every bit as badly as he wanted me, probably from that very first moment when his long fingers had closed around my hand. I’d felt his heat and strength, and something had told me that I would be safe with him. I hadn’t felt that with a client before.
I’d never felt that with anyone before.
I should have realised then that meeting with him might be dangerous, but I’d dismissed the thought. I’d told myself it was nothing, that being attracted to a client would be a good test for me at staying professional.
I hadn’t known just how much of a test it would be and how badly I’d fail in the end.
My hands clutched onto each other—a habit from back in my school days that I’d tried to get rid of, because no one liked a nervous escort—and I tried to loosen them as what he’d said finally penetrated.
‘I see.’ I struggled to get my thoughts in order, my heartbeat thumping loudly in my head.
One last booking. One last night.
Don’t you want it to be something special?
‘Well?’ His voice was sharp with an edge of demand that was new to me.
He hadn’t been like that the last time we’d met. He’d been lounging on the couch cushions beside me, one arm along the back of the couch, his other hand resting on his thigh. His deep voice had been soft, and there had been a note of pain in it as he’d told me about the car accident that had ended up with his girlfriend being in hospital for a year, and how guilty he’d felt because he’d been driving. I’d watched his face as he’d told me, had seen his dark-blue eyes stare off into the distance, and there had been a vulnerability to him that had tugged at my heart. I’d been able to sense that there was more to that story, but I hadn’t pushed.
When we’d first met I’d thought him a little cold, because he was so precise about things and so in control of himself. He’d been perfectly charming, and yet I’d sensed in him a deep reserve that had slowly melted over the weeks. I’d been thrilled when he’d relaxed with me, smiled with me, revealing himself to be a much warmer and genuine man than I’d thought. Helplessly, I’d been drawn in.
A man of deep feeling, that was what I’d sensed about him, and I tended to be right in my impressions of people. That was what made me so good at my job.
I could see that feeling now, burning in the midnight-blue of his eyes—anger and disappointment and desire. And all for me.
God, I was such an idiot. I should never have kissed him. Should never have crossed that boundary and put us both in this position.
I swallowed. ‘That’s kind of the problem. In fact, that’s why I’m here.’
‘Why?’ His head tilted, the force of his gaze almost palpable. ‘Because of the sex?’
‘No. It’s...the opposite.’ My hands had found each other again, clutching on tight. ‘I came because I have to tell you something.’
‘Tell me what?’
I let out a breath, trying to force down my nervousness and the stab of pain that went with it. Because ending it with a client shouldn’t make me nervous and it shouldn’t cause me pain. It shouldn’t make any difference to my feelings at all. But Trajan had always been differ
ent, right from the start.
‘I can’t see you any more,’ I said baldly. ‘I can’t get involved with a client.’
He was so still, his midnight eyes on mine, staring at me as if he could read all the thoughts in my head. ‘But we’re not involved.’ His voice had cooled, yet the edge in it was still apparent. ‘I hire you for the evening, and presumably that money goes into your back account, and that is the extent of our involvement.’
I studied the lines of his harshly beautiful face. Did he really believe that? Surely not? Surely he wouldn’t have told just anyone what he’d told me a couple of weeks earlier as we’d sat there together? About his cold father, who only valued him for his success, and his shallow mother, who only competed for his attention to get back at his father. About his younger sister, who always got lost in the mix, and about how he felt guilty for not being there for her.
No, he wouldn’t have told just anyone that. Not a man as reserved as he was.
‘That’s not true,’ I said quietly. ‘It’s become more than that and you know it.’
An expression I couldn’t read shifted across his face then was gone. ‘Like I said, I’m not asking you for anything more than one night, Honey. That’s all.’
It shouldn’t have hurt me that he didn’t demand more, that one night was all he wanted. Because I wasn’t in a position to give him a relationship any more than he was in a position to give me one. And yet it did hurt. Which was another reason—if I’d needed one—why breaking it off now and walking out the door was what I should do.
I couldn’t risk it, not even one night. Because what if it was good? What if being with him ruined me? How could I go back to my job, to being with other men, after a night with him?
And it will ruin you; you know that.
I looked away from him, unable to bear the pressure of his gaze any more, staring down at the thick, dense pile of the carpet instead. ‘I can’t,’ I repeated. ‘Not even one night. It would...make going back to work far too difficult and it wouldn’t be fair to my other clients.’
Harlequin Dare May 2021 Box Set Page 2
