"That probably is important. Watching me eat probably isn't all that pleasant even under the best of circumstances."
She hurried back to the kitchen for silverware and some paper towels to use as napkins. This time, she even remembered the corkscrew.
Mark attacked his steak with ferocity. But watching him wasn't the unpleasant event he apparently believed it was. She remembered being surprised at her mother's house with how deftly Mark managed his food. Now, she found that witnessing his enjoyment of the meal was a sensual experience for her as well as him. Anyway, if his sighs of enjoyment were any indication, his blindness certainly did nothing to harm his taste buds.
Amy tried to pay attention to her own food. Knowing that Mark was sitting only inches away from her, completely naked except a suggestive pair of black boxer shorts and an afghan barely draped over his hips, made it hard for her to fully relish the meal.
She took a sip of her wine, then another.
The wine warmed her blood. Looking at Mark warmed her blood even more. He was a full-grown man, but she wanted to take him in her arms and comfort him. It didn't make any sense at all.
She decided she'd better get out before she did something truly foolish.
"Are you sure you don't want me to take you to the hospital?" she asked. "What if you have internal injuries or something?
"I don't need to see a doctor. I can take care of myself."
"Then I think I'd better stay and keep an eye on you," she blurted out. "That way I'll be sure you're all right."
Chapter 8
"I beg your pardon?" To Mark, Amy had always seemed anything but a tease. After she had explicitly rejected any possibility of a physical relationship between the two of them, he had been too proud to accept what she could offer-- simple friendship. Nothing in his judgment of Amy had prepared him for this offer. One thing for certain, he wouldn't accept anything physical if Amy offered it in pity for his injury.
"I--that it--well, you took a pretty serious blow. I don't feel right about leaving you alone. If you won't go to the hospital, I think someone should be here."
"All right." As if anyone with a 'y' chromosome would say no to that kind of offer. "I'll sleep on the couch."
"I sort of think that would defeat the purpose," Amy said.
"What purpose?" He didn't like the sound of this.
"Like I said, making sure you're all right."
Mark shrugged his shoulders. Big mistake. His bruised kidneys complained painfully. "I give up. What do you propose?"
"You should take your bed and I'll take the couch."
"No way am I going to--"
"No, that wouldn't work either," she interrupted him before he could build up a full head of steam. "I wouldn't be close enough to know if anything's wrong. How about I stack some pillows on the floor and make a sort of a pallet in one of your spare bedrooms?"
How about you use my body as a pallet? he wanted to say. He almost said. He couldn't say.
"I suppose I should get some beds for the spare bedrooms. I don't get a lot of company." His sisters had visited when he'd been moving in and they had all used camping equipment. "One thing for sure, I won't let a guest sleep on the floor, pillows or no."
"I'm not giving you any choice," Amy responded. She could be as stubborn as he could. It should have been frustrating but for some reason he found it attractive.
"Why don't we just put a stack of pillows in the middle of the bed?" he suggested, knowing he was being outrageous. "We could use them as a divider. That way neither of us would have to be uncomfortable."
Amy's silence was so total Mark wondered if he'd absolutely blown it this time.
"That might work," she finally agreed, much to his surprise.
"Terrific. In that case, do you want a nightcap?"
"Only if you want me completely drunk," Amy said.
Unfortunately, Mark knew too well that he could never have what he wanted. Possibly, if he got her drunk enough, he might be able to talk her into something crazy like forgetting about the pillows tonight. But she'd hate him tomorrow. He wanted to break down the pillow barrier forever. Talk about wishing on stars he could never see. "In that case, I think I'll go upstairs. There's an unused toothbrush under my sink. After you brush your teeth, you can help me with the pillows."
He would let her build the barricade. He couldn't trust himself to build a barrier when all he wanted was to break it down.
"Ah, one more thing," she said.
"What's that?"
"Can you find me something to sleep in?"
He felt himself blush. "I, that is to say, shoot." He took a deep breath and started over. "I don't have any woman's things."
"I could wear the tops to one of your pajamas."
"I haven't worn pajamas since I was in third grade."
That stopped her for a second.
"What were you thinking about wearing?" she asked cautiously.
A good question. He didn't think they could pile pillows high enough to get Amy anywhere near the bed with him if he wore his standard nighttime lack of clothing.
"What I've got on?" he finally said, more as a question than as a statement.
"All right. Do you have a T-shirt I can borrow?"
"No problem. Any other logistics?"
Amy was silent.
He waited for a moment then repeated himself.
"Oh, Mark, I'm so sorry. I forgot again. I shook my head and assumed you knew what I was doing. I'm really sorry."
"Don't worry about it," he told her.
"Easy for you to say. You aren't the one who keeps sticking her foot in her mouth."
"Do you think I want you walking on eggshells all the time?" he asked. "Say what you want, make normal gestures. If I can't figure out what you mean, I'll ask. Too many people treat me like I'm some fragile knickknack they want to put on a shelf, dust once a week, and otherwise leave alone. One of the things I like about you is that, once in a while, you seem to forget I'm blind and just treat me like a man."
"Do you think you're ready to go upstairs now? She answered so quickly he wondered what he'd said this time. Maybe 'like a man' had sounded like a complaint.
Tough. He'd always been a gambler, playing for the win. If Amy wasn't willing to accept what he had to offer, he wouldn't accept a consolation prize.
He stood up too quickly and almost lost his balance at the sharp crest of pain.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," he lied. "Since I'd been sitting for a while, my blood must have gone into my legs. I got dizzy for a second."
"In that case, would you mind wrapping the afghan around yourself?"
His silk boxers covered as much as a pair of running shorts but he complied with her request before turning to the real challenge.
He climbed the stairs as nonchalantly as he could, pretending that he didn't feel like expiring right there on the landing.
"I'd appreciate it if you could tell me where the T-shirt is," she reminded him.
"Sure. But you don't have to stand on ceremony around me. I promise not to watch even if you go running around naked."
"Very funny."
"One T-shirt coming up."
"I know this sounds weird but can I take a shower?" Amy asked. "Since those guys made me pull up my sweater, I've been feeling like my skin is crawling."
"There are clean towels in the second bathroom."
While Amy retreated into the guest bathroom, he went to his closet and felt for the softest of his shirts, something one of his readers had picked up. He could only hope it didn't bear some embarrassing slogan. Garment in hand, he stepped across the hallway.
Amy's voice belted out something about the cheating hearts over the roar of her shower.
He tried not to think about the way droplets of water would form on her skin, or how it would feel to brush them away, tracing just the slightest touch of her skin. He tried even harder not to think about Amy, naked in his house, only a couple of short yards
from where he stood. Then he faced reality. His ability to control his thoughts was totally shot.
Mark knocked on the door, shouted something incoherent, even to him, left the T-shirt hanging from the knob, and made himself head for his bedroom before he completely lost control and shucked his boxers to join her in the shower.
* * * *
Amy pulled on Mark's T-shirt and tried not to think about the way it surrounded, engulfed her. Although it was clean and smelled of fabric softener, some essence of Mark clung to it like a lover.
She bunched it in her hands and pressed it to her nose, inhaling and filling her lungs with his scent.
She had to keep things in perspective. Naturally taking care of an injured man would bring out all of her caregiving instincts. Naturally seeing Mark stripped down to a pair of sexy underwear that clearly showed his growing arousal would excite her. That didn't mean she had to jump his bones. Frankly, sex was probably the last thing he needed right now. Unfortunately, her body didn't feel that the same applied to her.
She pulled the T-shirt down to cover her thighs, aware that she was doing so for herself. Mark really wouldn't look. Then she opened the door to his bedroom and stepped in.
Mark had pulled on a silk bathrobe and lay in bed reading, his sensitive hands running over the cardboard surface of the Braille book.
She tried to walk softly so as not to disturb him, but he looked up as she padded in.
"Do you want a cup of tea or something?" His voice sounded husky.
"I'm fine." The last thing she needed was caffeine to keep her awake.
"You really don't have to stay. I'm a big boy and can take care of myself."
"Yeah, right. That's why you jogged up the stairs. Come on, Mark, you know you're hurt."
He didn't press the argument.
"There are a bunch of pillows in the armoire. Feel free to build your wall."
She nodded.
"And don't worry about the light," Mark continued. "However you want it is fine with me."
She wondered if he lived in darkness when he was alone. Could he feel the heat of the lamps through his skin? She couldn't think of the words to ask.
"Building a wall sounds like a pretty silly idea," she admitted.
His face looked pained. "I think it's a extremely good idea. I'm used to having the entire bed to myself and I may move around during the night."
"All right," she conceded, not at all sure that a wall of pillows, or even a wall of concrete and barbed wire, would slow Mark down for more than a second.
His antique armoire had a beveled glass mirror that reflected her face back at herself. To her surprise, she actually looked pretty good despite what the shower had done to her makeup and her hair. Her cheeks had a natural pink blush she'd rarely been able to achieve with makeup.
She pulled on the door without any success. Before she could pull again, possibly damaging the furniture, she noticed the skeleton key and turned it.
In addition to a dozen or so pillows, the wardrobe held a down comforter, a couple of quilts that looked handmade, and an assortment of towels.
She took an armload of pillows, dumped them on the bed, then returned for another load.
Mark struggled to his feet and put his book on a nightstand, his face drawn. His painful effort confirmed the wisdom of her decision to stay. He really shouldn't be left alone and there was no way she was going to talk him into the hospital.
Amy looked at the pile of pillows. They reminded her of a snow fort, something she hadn't thought of since her family had left Illinois to return to her mother’s native Texas when she'd been in second grade. Following the snow fort idea, she piled the wall the entire length of the bed, four pillows high.
"What are we going to do about covers?" Mark asked. He ran his hand up the stack of pillows.
She glanced at her perfect wall, realizing, as Mark already had, that it pinned the covers down, making it difficult for the two of them to slide underneath. They could drape a sheet over that structure, but they'd end up with a tent.
"Hang on," she told him. She went back to the armoire and brought over a couple of the quilts. "There's one for each of us."
"Very cozy," he commented.
She glanced at the clock near Mark's bed. Although it would announce the time if touched, its red glow proclaimed the hour to the sighted as well. Nearly midnight. She really had no excuse not to climb into bed and get some sleep. Certainly, after all that had happened today, she should be exhausted.
Mark wrapped the quilt over his body then pulled off his robe, hanging it from one of the wooden bedposts.
"Good night, Amy," he said as he climbed into his side of the bed. "And thank you for your concern, even if it is misplaced."
"Good night, Mark." She wanted to tuck him in and give him a kiss but wasn't sure whether he would appreciate that attitude. Worse, she wasn't sure her motives were completely pure.
Flipping off the light didn't help as much as she had thought it would. Suddenly she was in Mark's sightless element. All of her other senses perked up. Her body was all too aware that she lay next to a full grown, incredibly sexy, awesomely handsome, male.
His soft breathing comforted her at the same time as it made her painfully aware of his nearness.
She put out a hand and pressed the softness of the water bed.
Last time she had lain on this mattress, she and Mark had gotten themselves tangled up, physically and emotionally.
She shrugged her shoulders. Waiting wouldn't make going to bed any easier.
Mark groaned slightly as she climbed into the bed, her weight shifting the water and rocking the pillow wall, which her eyes, growing accustomed to the dark, could barely make out.
She pulled the quilt over her shoulders, wrapped her arms around a pillow, and inhaled the essence of Mark.
Her fingers clenched at the downy soft fabric of the pillowcase, suddenly aware of every nub of the weave. She could almost taste the kisses she and Mark had shared hours before, only inches from where she lay right now. Mark's soft breathing was punctuated with an occasional suppressed grunt as he shifted his weight, trying to make himself comfortable despite his injuries.
Distant streetlights gave the room what little illumination it had. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, they provided just enough light to make her even more aware of Mark's presence and the wall that separated the two of them. But they didn't provide enough to actually make out any details. For the moment, this was enough. Or too much.
"Night, Mark," she said for the second time. Then she buried her face into the pillow.
He didn't respond. She hadn't thought he would. He had fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Still, he seemed to breathe more easily, settling down into the comfortable warmth of the heated water bed.
****
The sun woke Mark, its heat penetrating the window, warming his skin where he'd pushed off the quilt during the night.
His body was sending him mixed signals.
He must have had one heck of a sensual dream because part of him was completely aroused and ready to go. At the same time, every muscle had its own complaint about the demands he'd placed on it. His ribs cried out with a pain so sharp he knew he'd cracked something. Not that it mattered. Doctors won't do anything for broken ribs anyway, as he'd learned after stepping on the land mine.
The sensation that didn't make any sense was the wonderful feeling of something warm, soft, and yielding pressing against his back, feather light touches against his arm and hair, and moist air in his ear.
Amy.
Guilt rolled over him like a San Francisco fog. He should have made her go home instead talking her into the wall of pillows. Obviously the pillows hadn't kept him from her. Obviously too, she would blame him when she woke and found the two of them locked in an embrace more personal than half the sexual encounters he'd experienced. Not that he would blame her. His subconscious mind must have carried out what he'd denied it.
&nbs
p; He reached a hand to feel the edge of the bed and got a big surprise. He hadn't moved at all. Somehow, despite all of her intentions, Amy must have tunneled under, climbed over, or exploded through the wall.
His guilt cranked down a notch. Just a notch, though. He knew better than to think she'd take full responsibility for her state. Even if she had moved in her sleep, she wouldn't be happy to awaken with Mark in her arms, her breasts pressed so closely into his body that he could practically feel every goose bump through the thin material of the T-shirt.
He reached for one of her arms, the one that held his left arm, and pried off her fingers.
Amy moaned, relaxed her grip, then, instead of letting him guide her hand, she shook out of his grasp and slid her hand down his body ending at his abdomen, fractional inches from his straining erection.
Her hand rested there for a moment, then slowly traced the muscles of his stomach, thankfully moving upward rather than down. A rather satisfied purr caught his ear.
Amy is dreaming, he reminded himself. And in her dreams, his body probably belonged to a sighted man. What she did now had nothing to do with her feelings toward him. She'd been clear about how she felt about him from the very start and he certainly didn't need to be reminded again.
Still, he had lost his sight, not his manhood. He didn't know how much more of this he could take before he lost all common sense and pulled her to him like he had done the previous day.
Slowly, he raised her hand a second time, trying not to wake her up as he untangled their bodies.
"What are you doing?" Her voice was pitched low, still half asleep, but the other half awake now.
"I need to get up," he lied. Actually, he needed nothing in the world other than to lie next to Amy, luxuriate in the awareness of his own skin that her touch gave him. Every part of his body that needed to be up already was. Too much so.
"What happened?" She shook off his hand, incidentally brushing her own hand against his arousal.
"Oops," she said.
"The wall didn't work," he told her. And right now, all of his good intentions were fading fast.
"So why didn't you go back when you woke up?"
"I'm almost falling off the bed already." That they'd ended up on his side of the bed spoke for his innocence in whatever had happened. On the other hand, he could hardly protest very convincingly. He had certainly entertained notions of seeking her out.
Blind Date Page 11
