by Marie Jermy
Silence descended as Scott stared at Leia. Amazingly, she was looking straight at him. Right into his eyes. Into his soul. Extracting all of his secrets. He touched a hand to his chest before realizing it wasn’t his scars bothering him but rather that wildly beating heart of his. Could she hear it? He definitely could.
Leia… He rolled the name a few times around in his head and then said, “Your name. Leia. The way it’s pronounced sounds very Star Wars.”
“That’s because it is. Both my parents are Star Wars buffs. I like my name, but my brother doesn’t like his at all.”
“Why? Luke’s not a bad name,” he said, recalling what he knew about Star Wars characters.
She laughed. “No, he would prefer that. His name is Anakin.”
“Well, it could have been worse.” Scott said humorously. “Your parents could have named him Chewbacca or Yoda.” Again, she laughed. His next question was asked out of a mixture of curiosity and politeness. “How long have you been blind? Er, I mean, sightless.”
She smiled. “It’s okay to use the word blind. Um, ten years now. I contracted meningitis when I was fifteen.” A thoughtful frown played her delicate brows. “Didn’t Jessica tell you?”
Scott expelled a weighted breath. He had asked Jessica about Leia’s disability but hadn’t been supplied with an answer. For a moment, he wondered if Anderson had told Jessica not to say anything before dismissing the thought. Anderson may have certain grievances against him, but he didn’t play dirty tricks. Besides, Jessica would have more than likely called her husband a moron and told him to shut up.
“She just said you had a disability and that I shouldn’t let it bother me. And frankly, it doesn’t. I’m just curious to know how you intend to do the job.”
“As any normal sighted person would. As you already know, I make a mean coffee. And Jessica is always raving about my chamomile tea. It’s all in how long you steep the bag for,” she said matter-of-factly, although he knew she was yanking his chain. The tiny smile that played the corners of her mouth gave that away. “I possess a professional and friendly manner for greeting and looking after clients. I find most people treat me with respect.”
“Most people?”
“Yeah, well, there are the occasional schmucks still out there.” Leia knew he smiled at that. “I use a specially designed Braille laptop for computer work,” she further explained. “Microsoft provides the software, so all the standard stuff, word processing, spreadsheets, even an appointments diary. The diary does have a voice, sounds a bit like Barry White with a sinus problem. It tells the time and reminds me of clients due. Do you have an appointments diary?”
Scott started to shake his head before realizing his answer required words. “No, not really. We have the occasional client who rings for an appointment, but most of them just turn up.”
She nodded. “All documents can be printed on the printer you have outside. There’s no need to ‘add-a-printer’ as my laptop will recognize it. You just use the lead that’s already in one of the USB ports. The only thing I ask, if you or Jessica have any letters, et cetera, you record them on Dictaphone.”
“Was that what you were carrying when you arrived?” he asked. “Your Braille laptop?”
“Actually, I have two, the other being at home. Um, would you be kind enough to connect it for me? I didn’t want to mess about with any wires. For obvious reasons.”
Scott rose to his feet. He had to see this laptop; he was quite a nerd when it came to computer technology. Some of the Federation’s gadgets, like the Beretta and a laser pen for healing wounds, not to mention the impenetrable firewall software protecting his own laptop, were innovative, and he had no doubts that Leia’s would be the same. “Sure. Give me a couple of minutes.”
Once he had disconnected the agency’s computer and put it on top of one of the filing cabinets in Jessica’s office, he turned his attention to Leia’s laptop. On the outside, it look like any normal laptop, but open the lid, and it was anything but. Unlike with a standard QWERTY keyboard, there were relatively few keys, each with a series of raised dots.
Out of curiosity, Scott closed his eyes and ran his fingers over the keys. Weird. And unless you understood Braille, impossible to know what you were typing. He wondered how many words a minute Leia could type. He plugged it into the power socket and connected the printer using the lead supplied, then once he had made sure the wires were safely tucked away, he returned to Leia. “That’s some laptop,” he said, picking up his coffee.
“If you require access to it, say when I’m on a lunch break or out of working hours or if I’m sick, which I’m rarely am, you just plug in an ordinary keyboard and away you go. The password is werewolf.”
Scott choked on a mouthful. “Werewolf? Interesting choice.” Since Leia didn’t offer an explanation and definitely not wanting to press, he instead asked, “How many words can you type in a minute?”
“One hundred and twenty.”
Again, he choked on his coffee. “Really?”
She smiled. “Really. Impressed? And would you like a slap on the back?”
“Very. And no.” He’d rather she used her hand on another part of his body—the one still tenting his pants. To avoid further choking incidents, he swiftly finished the coffee. “What about filing? I don’t know whether you know, but Jessica is quite old-fashioned in that sense. Yes, letters and documents are saved on computer, or in this case, your laptop, but she also insists on hard copies. All paperwork for our clients are filed away in the cabinets in Jessica’s office.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Are the files alphabetical?”
“Yes.”
“Definitely not a problem. I can label each cabinet with Braille labels, you know, indicating A to F, G to M, and so on. I can do the same with the file tabs, one Braille label for each letter of the alphabet.” She paused to clear her throat, drawing his attention to the line of smooth creamy flesh. “Answering the telephone is also not a problem. I can even write messages for you.”
As if on cue, the telephone on his desk rang. “Go ahead.” Fascinated, Scott watched as Leia, without fumbling, picked the receiver up as if she knew the phone’s exact location on his desk.
“Good morning. Magnum Investigations. How may I help you? Oh, hi, Ross. Yes, he’s here. One moment.”
She smiled as she held the receiver out, and he grimaced. “Oh, hi, Ross,” he greeted, mimicking Leia’s professional and pleasant telephone manner before changing tack and tone. “What the hell do you want?”
“Why is Leia answering your phone, Rafferty? She’s the agency’s secretary, not yours personally.”
“Well, I disagree. She is my secretary,” he said, then to wind Anderson up further, told him, “How I run Magnum Investigations while the lovely Jessica is away is none of your concern.” He slammed the receiver back into its cradle. Again, he was fascinated. Leia didn’t even jump. “Write me a message.” He pushed a Post-it pad and pen across the desk until they touched her fingers. She smiled, wrote something down, then pushed the pad back.
Neat but on a slight slant, it read, Can I touch you?
His cock throbbed.
Scott gulped long and hard.
* * * *
The silence was deafening, and Leia wondered if she had gone too far with her note. Had she also misread the entire attraction on Scott’s part? She’d been so sure. She made an unladylike noise. Yeah, like Archie had been sure that Scott had not been the coffee-throwing schmuck.
Yet, the sense that she affected him was strong. Okay, so she couldn’t help but overhear Ross pointing out she was the agency’s secretary just now, but with the way Scott emphasized the my suggested he meant she was his. Not a secretary but his woman.
Also, he may not realize, but at times his tone dipped to low and seductive. Nor had he objected when their fingers had touched and lingered when she’d placed his coffee on the desk. If anything, she felt sure he’d wanted to grab her hand to pull her across the
desk where he would do a lot more than touching.
Leia grew hot at the thought of Scott touching her. With his hands. His mouth. Her face flamed. Taking hold of Archie’s harness and abruptly pushing the chair back, she stood. Maybe it was best to retreat to the sanctuary of the reception to get a grip on herself before she did something really embarrassing, like tear her clothes off and lay legs spread on the desk, begging for him to take her.
“Touch me?” Scott asked, that dark, forbidden, and compelling voice of his hesitant. “What, as in you want to know what I look like?”
Oh, so he thought she wanted him to describe himself. Well, it was partly true. She did want to put a face to the name, so to speak. And a body. She squelched down the image of tearing Scott’s clothes off and conducting a thorough and detailed study to discover, apart from his gun, what other type of weapon he packed. With her hands. Her mouth.
Her face flamed further. “Yes!” Leia said quickly, maybe too quickly. “You can describe yourself, but…”
“But?”
“But it’s not the same. By touching I can build a better mental image.” She definitely wanted to touch him. Her fingers literally itched to.
“Then touch away, Leia.”
Something in Scott’s husky acceptance made Leia’s breath hitch. She heard him rise to his feet, and then he was standing right in front of her. A potent cocktail of danger, masculine heat and woodsy cologne wrapped around her and made her belly quiver with want when he released Archie’s harness from her fingers. Already hard, her nipples rasped eagerly against the lace of her bra as she reached up to touch his face.
She began by lightly running her fingers over a rather worried crease in his forehead, down the straight nose, over lean cheeks, and down one side of a strong, clean-shaven jaw across to the other. Then sweeping them briefly over slightly parted, firm and very kissable lips. “You can dispense with the frown,” she said, hoping her voice wasn’t trembling as much as her knees. “I’m not going to poke your eye out or something.”
His tone held a smile. “Glad to hear it.”
“Caucasian?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t have to answer this, but how old are you?”
A pause followed by a humorous “Over the age of consent.”
Oh, Lord. Over the age of consent for what? Tobacco? Alcohol? Sex? She ignored the sizzle that ignited in her belly and fanned outwards. Her fingers moved up to his hair, which was cut short at the back and sides but longer on top. She delighted in the silky strands sifting through her fingers. “Color?”
“Brown. Dark brown. And graying.”
God, Leia, do you have any idea what you’re doing to me? To my mind. My co—
Leia kept her expression straight when Scott abruptly stopped his thought. She knew exactly what he’d been about to think. And yes, she would really like to touch his cock, thank you very much. Unfortunately, now was not the time nor the place. She’d only known him for two minutes anyway. She didn’t want to seem too eager to jump him. Pity. “And your eyes? What color are they?” she asked as she lightly touched the creases beside his eyes. He was now smiling.
“Black.”
She frowned. “Black? Surely you mean dark brown.”
“No, I mean black.”
Okay, so Leia would reserve judgment on that; nobody had black eyes—well, unless they’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer. She moved her hands to rest on his shoulders. Under the expensive-feeling cloth, he was broad and muscular. Tough and capable. Exactly her kind of man. She expelled a shaky breath. “You’re what? Six foot?”
“Exact.”
“You’re wearing a suit,” she guessed as she ran her fingers down the lapels, inducing an equally shaky breath from him when she splayed them across the front of a cotton-rich shirt. His tie was silk. “What color?”
“Er, charcoal-gray. The shirt’s white, and the tie is black.”
“Like your eyes,” she joked.
“Like. My. Eyes.”
Leia ignored the enunciated adamancy and slipped her hands down his arms to link fingers with him. Liquid fire raced up her arms when slightly roughened fingertips and palms rasped against her smoothness as Scott twisted to clasp her hands fully in his. How could a man with such a cold touch induce such heat?
“I suffer from Raynaud’s,” Scott revealed. “Basically it’s a circulation problem affecting the hands and feet. That’s why my hands are so cold.”
“Do you take medication?”
“No. I should do, but I’m of the opinion that popping pills is only for the sick. And I’m not sick. I do, however, wear thick socks. And gloves in winter.” He cleared his throat and inched closer. “So, um, this mental image, what am I looking like to you?”
She stared unerringly into his black—or whatever color they were—eyes. “Scott, you’re an incredibly handsome man.”
“And you, Leia, are a very beautiful woman.”
“The woman I’d agree with, but I guess I’ll have to take your word on the beautiful,” she said with a rueful smile, feeling and smelling the coffee on the warm breath that fanned her face. Then even warmer lips grazed hers, and, eagerly, her eyes drifted closed, and she tilted her mouth up to his for more.
On a rough groan, Scott gave her more and fused his mouth to hers. Wow! His kiss was a heady combination of three dances. First, a fast-paced, energetic quickstep that eased into a slow, romantic waltz. And then bursting into a passionate and demanding tango, turning her brain into mush, and given the fact that his hands were ice-cold, had her body, already sizzling, exploding into a fiery ball of pleasure. Sultry slickness invaded her panties, and she resisted the urge to squeeze her thighs together. Never in her life had a kiss turned her on so much.
She became aware that his skilful tongue had stopped stroking the soft inner flesh of her mouth and was now dancing over her lower lip, almost in invitation. An invitation Leia wasn’t about to decline. Freeing her hands, she reached up, sunk her fingers into his hair, and sucked his tongue into her mouth just as his arms wrapped around her and pressed her body fully to his.
The gun she knew he carried poked hard against her shoulder, but it wasn’t as hard as what poked against her belly.
Utterly on fire, Leia moaned deep in her throat, but before she got the chance to rock against and align herself more intimately to the long, rigid length of Scott’s cock, he pulled away, leaving her gasping and dizzy. She reached out for the chair but only grasped air, and she knew she was going to fall, until a strong, cold hand caught her under her elbow and steadied her.
“Damn!” came Scott’s muffled curse, then on a stammer, “Leia, I–I’m sorry. Th–that shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was completely out of order.”
She felt him turn away, but a second later, he whirled back and pressed what felt like a set of keys into her hand. His icy touch induced more sizzles and sparks, and her breath caught at the tremors transporting from his body into hers. She knew he really wanted her. However, when he spoke, it sounded like a rebuff.
“Oh, I nearly forgot. These are yours. They’re spare keys for mine, Jessica’s, and the main office door.”
She nodded dumbly, went to say something, but the telephone on reception rang. A moment later, Scott placed Archie’s harness into her other hand, and they were both guiding her out into the reception. Absurdly, tears threatened to spill at the decisive click of Scott’s office door behind her, but Leia forced them back, straightened her spine, and answered the phone. There would be plenty of time to mull over what had just happened later.
“Good morning. Magnum Investigations. How may I help you?”
“Leia!” came the excited voice of her friend Jessica over the line. “Here I am on the other side of the Atlantic, yet you sound like you’re in the next room.”
Leia smiled as she made herself comfortable in her chair. The sound of Archie’s bored yawn as he rested his head on her foot told her it was time for
a dognap. “It does, doesn’t it? So I take you made it all right. I know you’re not fond of flying.”
“Yeah. Can’t see the point of a lifebelt under the seat. Surely a parachute would be a better option.”
“I’m sure it would. Unless, of course, the plane blows up on take-off or in mid-air. But if it crashes in the ocean, then the lifebelt really would be useful.”
“Gee, thanks, Leia. I’ll remember that on my return flight,” Jessica muttered.
Leia laughed at the grimace that she knew was screwing her friend’s face up. “So how are Ray and Scarlett? Are they enjoying living in London?”
“Mom loves it. And Dad…Well, he doesn’t mind the weather, but he moans about the government and how it runs the country. But what about you? How are you settling in?”
Leia shook her head at Jessica’s swift and sly turn of conversation. “I’m fine. This job will certainly be challenging and rewarding. I can’t thank you enough for offering it to me.”
“And Scott? How are you getting on with him?”
Now there was a loaded question that required a careful answer. Since Jessica had a tendency to play matchmaker, letting it slip that she’d already locked lips with Scott and that she wouldn’t mind jumping the bones of the man would not be prudent. Not when she didn’t know what opinions Jessica held on sex with the boss. And there was a question that required careful wording.
“Um, yeah, he’s nice. Friendly. Funny. Easy to work with. And the fact I’m blind doesn’t bother him in the slightest.” All in all, a truthful answer. Then, on a daring yearning to know, she asked, “What color are his eyes?”
“Black. Like those of the great white shark. Or at least that’s what Ross describes them as. I must admit, though, Scott does have a shark-like smile. And I’ve never known him to wear anything other than gray suits.” There was a pause, then, “Hang on, why do you want to know what color Scott’s eyes are? Have you touched him? Kissed him?”
Busted. Leia inwardly cursed. She should have known Jessica’s own insight worked just as well over the telephone. Oh well, she might as well hang herself. “Is Scott available? You know, to date?”
