by Julie Miller
“In what way exactly do I have the advantage?”
His sightless eyes zeroed in on her crisp articulation. She felt an answering stiffness work its way into his arms and legs.
And then she was free.
Of course she was free. He’d come to his senses, after all.
Eventually, every man did.
He sat on the edge of the bed and Julia crawled to a seat beside him. She hid her disappointment, sternly reminding herself that she was his nurse, not an old flame. Hell. She barely qualified as an old friend.
She straightened her sweater and smoothed a wisp of hair above her ear. “If you want to identify the chemicals, I’ll help do the research. But my first priority is your health. You have to take care of yourself before you can take care of anything else.”
He buried his face in his hands and rocked from side to side as if suddenly caught up in a wave of dizziness. “I’m useless. Out of control and useless. There’s a crime to solve, and I can’t do it.”
Julia tried to follow his mood swings. She rose to her feet beside him and planted her fists on her hips. He was way too stubborn. Way too down on himself. She shook her head, battling through her own frustrations so she could deal with his.
“How well did you know Jeff Ringlein?”
“You, too, huh?” Julia folded her arms and glared back at his accusatory smirk. She didn’t know what crime consumed him so. She was just trying to help him work his way through whatever was putting his recovering eyesight, and maybe even his life, in jeopardy. His broad shoulders lifted in a weary shrug before he finally answered her. “I took him under my wing when he joined the department. He was a nice enough kid. I tried to be a mentor to him.”
“Sounds like he’d have a lot of respect for you. If something was wrong, maybe he thought killing himself was better than disappointing you.”
“If something was wrong, I should have seen it. I should have helped him.” He pounded his fist in the palm of his hand. “I should be working right now to find out why he had to die.”
“Why don’t you?”
He tipped his face up to her, his handsome, scarred visage flushed with self-righteous anger.
“One guess.”
“You’re not the only person who’s had to cope with pain in his life. You find a way to deal with it. You don’t wallow in it.”
“Pain?” Mac rose to his feet. He was slow and unsteady getting there, but tall and straight and utterly inscrutable once he found his balance. Despite the cloudy lack of focus in his eyes, his cold expression still managed to pierce her good intentions. “What do you know about pain and suffering?”
She hugged herself against the verbal blows he unknowingly inflicted. Pain came in many forms. It could tear an ego to shreds. It could destroy a heart’s hope. It could make a mockery of even the most basic of trusts.
She couldn’t do this. She absolutely couldn’t heal this man when she had too many wounds to heal herself. “Damn you, Mac Taylor. I was only trying to help.”
Julia turned away before the tears in her heart over-flowed and provided her final humiliation. She left him in her dust and marched straight to the phone. She punched in a number she’d known since childhood. “Martha?”
The long breath at the far end of the line told Martha Taylor she knew exactly who was calling and why. “I’m sorry, Julia. You know he’s not really this way. It’s the injury talking. He just doesn’t—”
“Don’t apologize for him. He’s thirty-seven years old. A grown man. He has no excuse for treating people the way he does. Not you, not me, not anybody. I’ve had it. I want out of here. Now. Let him bang around this place on his own.”
As she raised her voice, a metallic echo screeched across the phone line. Julia pulled the receiver away from her ear until the harsh feedback receded. Struggling for self-control, she quieted her voice and tried a heart-to-heart plea. “You know I love your family. I’d do anything for them. But I’m not at my best myself right now.”
“You promised me twenty-four hours.”
The absolute fatigue in Martha’s sad voice finally registered. Mac wasn’t the only injured person in this family. As a nurse, she should have been aware of how her tirade could hurt. “I’m sorry.”
How could she tell this kind, loving mother that she wanted to abandon her son?
She couldn’t. And even if she could say no to Martha Taylor, she could never really say no to Mac.
She owed him too much. Maybe even her life. He might not remember that awful night so long ago, but Julia could never forget it. Her hero might have fallen from his pedestal in the meantime, but she had yet to repay him.
Tonight that debt would come due.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Martha. I just had a weak moment. We’ll get through this tantrum.”
“You’ll stay, then?” She detected a hint of renewed energy, maybe even hope in Martha’s voice.
“I’ll stay.”
MAC LAY IN BED, looking up toward the ceiling, and wondered if there were any other sins he could commit before the earth swallowed him up and put him out of his misery. No, he wouldn’t be that lucky.
He deserved every bit of guilt and suffering the devil threw his way. He hadn’t been observant enough to catch on to Jeff’s trouble. He should have detected the scent of corrosive acid sooner that night. He could have saved Jeff’s life if he’d been thinking.
Thinking.
Seems he hadn’t been able to do much of that lately.
Not with his mother pestering him to take care of himself. Not with Internal Affairs paying surprise visits.
Not with Julia Dalton running around his house, talking fresh and smelling like sunshine in the middle of his dark world.
He didn’t know whether to be pleased or concerned that she hadn’t packed her bags and left like the others.
Of course, none of the other nurses had fallen into bed with him. Or backed their curvy little butt into his thighs, expecting him to be some sort of ally against Niederhaus and Masterson, some sort of protection. None of the others had forced food on him.
The unused muscles in his face creaked into a smile. His hungry stomach had finally won out over pride. The dessert Julia had brought him had slopped out across the bedspread, and the spoon was somewhere on the floor. But he’d followed the tart scent of Granny Smith apples and used his fingers to eat every bit of the concoction left inside the bowl.
In his youth, knowing something that delicious existed inside the house would have been motivation enough for Mac and his brothers to sneak into the kitchen for a midnight raid to polish off the rest of it. He’d love another slice of Julia’s pie.
But his sneaking days were over.
He rubbed his palm across his beard and felt the sticky crumbs of piecrust and caramel sauce caught there. He didn’t just feel like hell. As Julia had said, he must look it, too.
In the rational part of his brain he could still tap into, Mac knew she was right. He was feeling sorry for himself. But not for the reason she thought. It wasn’t the blindness. Sure, that aggravated the hell out of him. Retraining himself to do the simplest tasks he’d once taken for granted taxed his patience.
It was the guilt.
One of his men had died, and Internal Affairs suspected foul play. They’d come to ask him questions and, according to Jules, had given his house a superficial inspection. Did I.A. think he was part of Jeff’s business, too? Was anyone else on his staff destroying evidence? Why couldn’t he figure this out?
He’d always been able to figure things out.
Maybe Julia was right. Maybe he needed to take care of his own needs first, before he tried to deal with anything else.
Not trusting his internal clock, Mac had waited until the sounds of the house had stilled for a long time. Officer Osterman was in his car out front. Julia was asleep in the guest room down the hall.
He stood and clutched at the headboard, waiting for the dizziness to pass. He did have on
e slight advantage with his blindness. He wouldn’t have to turn on any lights to go for a midnight walk.
Barefoot, Mac risked the safety of his toes by slipping across the hall into the bathroom. He needed a shave, a shower, a chance to brush his teeth and some clean clothes.
He found his toothbrush and toothpaste in the holder above the sink. He squirted the paste onto his thumb before finding the bristles. But after running the water slowly to make less noise, he managed to pull off that task with very little mess.
Allowing that small victory to soothe his ego, he moved on to shaving. He let the water run until it was hot, and opened the cabinet door, looking for his razor and the shaving cream.
He managed to get the foam on his neck before the first mistake happened. “Ow. Damn.”
The razor caught not once, but twice. The foam dribbled into the cuts, making them sting. He scooped up two handfuls of water to wash away the irritating lather. The water ran straight down his neck and soaked the front of his shirt.
Was the blade old and rough? Or had he just misjudged the angle in this dangerous shave by touch routine? He pressed his thumb against the blade and winced. “Damn.”
Definitely sharp enough to cut.
With his thumb in his mouth, he dropped the razor into the sink and reached for the can of shaving cream. Now the devils were working against him. His hand hit the can. His fumbling attempt to catch it knocked it across the room. Metal made an embarrassingly loud noise when it crashed onto tile.
Resigning himself to the inevitable, Mac sank to his knees and crawled around, searching the floor for the shave cream.
He was reaching between the tub and the toilet when he smelled her.
Outdoor fresh in the musty confines of the bathroom.
“Need some help?”
Was the deep-pitched huskiness in Julia’s voice due to interrupted sleep or amusement at his expense?
“Do you mind if I turn on the light over the sink?” she asked. “It won’t be as bright as the overhead.”
He laughed at that one. “Doesn’t bother me.”
He used the moment when he thought she’d turned away to climb to his feet. At least he’d found the shaving cream.
Two gentle fingers pressed at his neck before he could get his bearings. “Yikes. Looks like you cut yourself.” The can was pried from his hand before he could speak. “I’ve done this a hundred times at the hospital. I’ll have you shaved in no time.”
Mac turned to either side, feeling confined, lost. He could hear her at the sink, moving items around. Running fresh water. How had he lost control of the situation? Oh, right. He couldn’t sneak anymore.
“Sorry I woke you.”
“An apology, huh?” Had he been that awful to her? He bowed his head. Of course, he had. And she still wanted to help him? “I wasn’t sleeping very well, anyway.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
Her hands caught him above his elbows, angling him slightly. “You want me to let you cut up that handsome face even more? Sit.”
Her teasing undercut his apology. The soft sounds of her moving around with such confident care made him a little less self-conscious. If he was smart, he’d let her help. And he desperately wanted to feel smart. “Where do you want me?”
“Right behind you. Knee level.” Could he actually hear a smile? “Don’t worry, the lid’s down.”
He heard the swoosh of foam as he sat, finding the toilet seat exactly where she’d indicated. He started to relax when he felt her knee touch his, nudging it aside.
Like a magnet reaching for its polar opposite, Mac’s skin tingled through his jeans and shirt. She moved in close, with one leg on either side of his right thigh. An impersonal bit of practicality, he supposed.
But there was nothing impersonal about her heat meshing with his own. His body woke up and took notice of her tantalizing warmth, responding to an intangible beauty his eyes could not see.
Her hands cupped his cheeks and slid down across his jaw. She had too much foam, but he didn’t mind the waste. She smoothed her palms into the indentations beneath his cheekbones, and her skin caught in the scruff of his beard, creating friction that sensitized his pores all the way down to his toes.
She tipped up his chin and stroked her fingers down his throat. Mac’s mind reeled with questions. Was he looking up into her face? Was she looking down at his? Her breasts should be at eye-level, if he’d judged her height correctly. With a secret sight known only to those devils who plagued him, he dropped his gaze, trying to imagine what stern nurse Julia Dalton wore to bed.
Her arms were bare, so she hadn’t put on a robe. Just how intimate was his no-nonsense nurse being with him? Just because he couldn’t see didn’t mean he couldn’t imagine.
When she reached for the razor, her thigh pressed into his, and something very male, very unexpected tightened within his body. He hadn’t felt competent or capable since the accident. But tonight, with Jules standing in front of him with her robeless body and bewitching hands, he felt incredibly normal. Instinctively male. He felt stirrings inside him he hadn’t felt since long before the accident.
When her finger touched his chin and tilted it for her to reach his neck, he closed his eyes and reached out. He settled his hands at her waist. Soft cotton, he discovered. She wore a big cotton T-shirt to bed. He squeezed his fingers imperceptibly and analyzed further. Something with thick elastic rested beneath the T-shirt. Pajama pants.
Sensible Julia wore sensible clothes to bed. Only there was nothing sensible about his body’s reaction to each sweep of the razor, cleaning his neck and jaw and cheek like a sensual caress. There was nothing sensible about the healthy heat firing deep in his belly as her thighs nudged his again, and her waist flexed within his hands. There was nothing sensible about the overwhelming desire to pull Julia into his lap and kiss her.
“I’ve made a mess of your shirt.” She had to speak before he realized she’d finished the job. And before he could do anything sensible—like release her, or protest, or push away—she had the shirt up and over his head, skimming her fingers and palms along his flanks and shoulders along the way. He swallowed hard. Now she was undressing him. “Did you want to get in the shower, too?”
Mac stood, fighting off the drugging sensation of the fantasies he’d spun around Julia. She was doing her job. That was all.
He tried to sound unaffected by the intimacy they’d just shared. “Yeah. I can get it, though.”
She bustled around some more, opening and closing a door. His hearing picked up on every sound, making his body long for her to return. “Here’s a fresh towel and washcloth. I laid them on the toilet lid.”
Next he heard the water running. Felt the steam rising in the air around him.
Felt her hands at the snap of his jeans.
Mac’s body lurched in response. He snagged her hands and pulled them away from the betraying evidence in his pants. “I said I could handle it.”
He felt the recoil in Julia’s muscles and knew he had spoken harshly. Then he felt the tiny jerk in her arms, from shoulders shrugged as if they didn’t care.
“I’ve been a nurse for eight years, Mac. It’s not like I haven’t seen everything.”
This she didn’t need to see.
He owed her something. Anything. At least an explanation.
“I’m not thinking of you as my nurse right now.” He said the words slowly, giving her a hint of his reaction to her. “And I’m sure not thinking of you as the little girl who used to live across the street.”
“Then what’s wrong? I strip you down, you get in the shower, I bring you fresh clothes, we’re done.” Though her crisp voice held no trace of innuendo, the scene she conjured fired him up all over again.
“Jules—” He trailed his hands up her arms until he braced them at either side of her face. His fingers caught in a crop of short, silky curls that hugged the elegant shape of her head.
She wrapped her hands around his forea
rms and he felt the question in her touch. She still didn’t understand. He angled his head to hers, hoping he had her face in his focus. “I’m thinking of you as a woman.”
When the light dawned, her fingers tightened in a painful grip that pinched the hair on his arms. “No, you’re not.” Then she was pushing him away, backing away. “You can’t.”
“Can’t what?” He tried to follow her, but ran into the sink.
“You must be thinking of someone else. You’d be disappointed if you could really see me.”
By the time he’d negotiated the hallway, she’d shut her door in his face. He didn’t try to open it or call to her, though he wanted an explanation. He’d hurt her too many times already.
Mac pressed his forehead against the panelled wall and wondered how else he could screw up today. He’d fought her at every turn, and then, in the middle of the night, he’d gone far beyond noticing her as a woman, and started lusting after her.
He was the blind man here. Couldn’t she see how she affected him?
While he stood and considered all his mistakes, Mac’s ears attuned to the tiniest of sounds.
The brush of a footstep? He heard it only once. He tilted his head to listen. There it was again.
It wasn’t from Julia. She was stomping around in her room, cursing his confession, somebody named Anthony and men in general.
He heard the sound again. Soft, stealthy. Wade Osterman was on patrol outside and the doors were locked. Right?
With the sixth sense that only a blind man could possess, Mac turned.
Someone was in the house.
Chapter Four
Mac tapped softly at the closed door and whispered. “Jules.”
“Leave me alone.”
He wished he could.
“I need you.” He swallowed his pride and made the plea. Through the wood he heard silence that seemed to last for days, punctuated by a heavy sigh.
He shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, not knowing what to expect when the door opened with a rush. “What? I’m not on duty twenty-four hours a day, you know. I mean, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in there—”
