Heartbreaker (The Warriors)

by Laura Taylor

  "Welcome to Saint Thomas and Rowland House, gentlemen. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Bliss Rowland."

  She immediately sensed the fury emanating from Micah. It rolled off of him in invisible waves, encompassing everything and everyone in its path. Bliss deliberately ignored his hostility.

  "Some of you have been here before, so please settle in and reacquaint yourselves with the mansion. The two upstairs wings should accommodate all of you, but I’ll leave it to you to sort out the sleeping arrangements. Aside from the studio on the opposite side of the main courtyard, you have the run of the estate."

  She approached Micah as she spoke. She knew she startled him when she took his hand. He flinched, but Bliss ignored his reaction and laced their fingers together as though they were old friends. "I’ll escort Captain Holbrook to his suite."

  "Ma’am, I’m supposed to…"

  She smiled at the young man who stood beside Micah. His uniform bore a corpsman’s insignia. "Please?"

  Instantly charmed, he flushed. "Yes, ma’am."

  "May I depend on you to deliver his luggage to his quarters?"

  "Of course, ma’am."

  "Thank you all." Bliss waited for them to disperse before she spoke to Micah. Once they stood alone in the sprawling foyer, she asked, "How was your trip?"

  "Long."

  He doesn’t remember me, she realized, a combination of relief and disappointment mingling within her. She took a moment to remind herself that most men rarely remembered mousy seventeen–year–old girls they’d met more than eleven years earlier. She also recalled Cyrus’s comment that Micah had been involved in numerous covert missions for Naval Intelligence, and she concluded that more recent violent events had eclipsed any recollection of a long ago terrorist assault on a London train station and shopping district.

  "I have no medical credentials," she said, "although I am your hostess during your stay at Rowland House. Cyrus called earlier today. He explained your situation."

  Micah remained mute.

  Bliss smoothed her fingertips over their joined hands. She felt the answering clench of his strong fingers. "I’ll familiarize you with the mansion and the grounds of the estate. You’ll need to try to relax and trust me, which is a lot to ask of you right now, I know. Before we begin, I promise that I’ll try never to make you feel uncomfortable about your inability to see, but I won’t avoid the subject either."

  "You don’t mince words."

  She smiled. "No, I don’t. Do you mind?"

  He tilted his head, as though he could see beyond the bandages that covered his eyes. She remembered from long ago the piercing quality of his dark–eyed gaze, and for a moment she felt relieved that he couldn’t see the hunger in her eyes as she studied him.

  "Yes, I mind. I mind all of this."

  "I don’t blame you. Cyrus has a way of bulldozing people into submission. He considers his judgment impeccable. The rest of us are left to deal with his orchestrations, so I guess it’s up to us to make the best of a potentially awkward situation."

  He chuckled, but the sound lacked any genuine humor.

  "I’ll show you to your suite now," she continued, not missing a beat. "I’m right–handed, so I generally lead off with my right foot."

  Although pleased that he immediately adjusted his stride to her shorter one, Bliss didn’t kid herself that Micah Holbrook was feeling cooperative. She expected resistance and anger from him in the hours and days ahead. She understood and even empathized with his inner rage, but she was nevertheless determined to draw him out of the shell into which he’d recently crawled.

  Despite the currents of tension she felt streaming through his muscular body, Bliss spoke with a nonchalance that belied the truth of her own chaotic emotions. "We’re entering the east wing of the main house. You’ve probably noticed how cool it is indoors. The floors and walls are marble. The hallway is quite long and six feet wide. There are three suites located in this particular wing. You’ll be using the one next door to mine, and we’ll share a patio that overlooks the back lawn and the beach. The third suite will remain vacant during your stay."

  As they moved down the hallway at a sedate pace, Bliss savored the encompassing warmth of Micah’s hand. She remembered the way in which he’d watched over her all those years ago, reassuring her with his presence in the London hospital, holding her hand while the doctor swabbed cuts with anesthetic and then stitched a gash in her right thigh. She still bore the scar on her upper leg, although it had faded to a narrow white line. During those post–bombing hours, Micah Holbrook had become the center of her world. She’d never forgotten him, although she felt certain that he hadn’t ever guessed the impact he’d had on the vulnerable heart of a lonely seventeen year old girl.

  "There aren’t any chairs or other furnishings in the hallway, so you won’t have to negotiate an obstacle course when you leave your suite."

  Bliss slowed her steps to pause before a closed door. She guided Micah’s hand to the doorknob and smoothed his fingers over it. "We’re standing at the end of the hallway now."

  He turned the knob and pushed open the door. Bliss inhaled the mingling scents of island flowers and salt–tinged Caribbean air that flowed through the open patio doors on the opposite side of the room. Taking his hand again, she stepped into the spacious room. Relief flooded her when Micah allowed her to draw him forward with her.

  "This suite is a combination sitting room and bedroom with a private bath. The furniture is contemporary, and the color scheme is a mix of creams and burgundies." She glanced at Micah, noting the muscle that ticked furiously in his already tight jaw. "I’ll always describe your surroundings."

  "What the hell’s the point?"

  "By having mental images to work with, you’ll get a better sense of how to move through each room."

  He jerked his hand free. "Are you blind?"

  "No. You are," she said. "At least, for the moment. No one knows if your condition is permanent, so we’re going to deal with that reality, rather than pretend you might not be sight impaired for the remainder of your life."

  "How in hell can you possibly know what I need?"

  "Experience. My method may not be officially sanctioned by the medical community, but it works. And Cyrus trusts me," she reminded him.

  He bit out an ugly word.

  Bliss ignored his anger and reclaimed his hand. She led him around the room. She showed him the location of each piece of furniture, the walk–in closet, and the bathroom. By forcing Micah to skim his fingertips across each surface they encountered, including the walls, she knew she was helping him to imprint permanent images in his sensory memory. Finally, she escorted him to the open French doors that led out to the patio, pausing on the threshold.

  "You can smell and feel the breeze on your face. It’s almost as good as a massage after a long day at work. It’s beautiful outside today. There isn’t a cloud for miles, and the temperature is in the high eighties."

  "I’m tired." Micah turned his back on the view he couldn’t see. He stopped abruptly.

  Bliss understood his dilemma. Resisting the impulse to guide him, she instead provided him with the means to deal with his disorientation. "There are two chairs and a coffee table approximately six feet in front of you. The low table is positioned between the chairs."

  His spine as straight as an oak plank, Micah moved forward. Bliss watched him fight the urge to extend his hands in front of him. Instead, he pressed them to his sides.

  "Micah," she said quietly.

  He paused, his chin coming up as he tilted his head in her direction.

  "The leading edge of the chair cushion is about eight inches from where you’re standing. Move slowly and you’ll feel the presence of the chair before you actually reach it, but only if you trust your senses and allow them to guide you."

  He moved with care and an unusual grace for such a large man deprived of his ability to see. Once he sank down into the chair, he exhaled and gripped the arms
. "I didn’t ask to be sent here." Anger and resentment resonated in his low voice.

  "I realize that."

  "Why would you want a stranger in your home?"

  "You’re my father’s friend." And you saved my life, even though you obviously don’t remember me.

  "That’s not an answer."

  "It’s the only one I’ve got right now." Her gaze fell to his white–knuckled grip on the arms of the chair. She ached for him, but she managed to keep her voice calm as she spoke. "I’m offering you my hospitality and friendship, not pity. I save that for people who really need it."

  "I don’t want or need your help, and I’d like to be left alone now."

  "I understand what you’re saying, but I can’t allow you to turn this suite into a bunker while you ignore reality. I have some free time on my hands, and I intend to put it to good use while you’re here. Cyrus told me the doctors are uncertain if you’ll regain your vision. Since your blindness could be permanent, you need to learn some good habits right off the bat."

  "Get the hell out of here. Now!" he shouted, his temper finally exploding.

  She approached him, her hands joined in front of her as she studied him. "You cannot deal with this situation alone, and turning yourself into a recluse until you learn if the surgery’s been successful or not is a mistake. You must prepare yourself for the possibility that you’ll be blind. I’m putting you on notice right now, Micah Holbrook. I do not intend to let you hide from yourself or from the world. I know you’re angry, and I don’t have a problem with that. You’re an intelligent man, so be smart enough to make your anger work for you, instead of using it against yourself."

  He raked ruthless fingers through his close–cropped, pale gold hair. When he finally spoke, he did so through gritted teeth. "Please just get out of here and leave me alone."

  Bliss crossed the room. She paused at the door to glance back at Micah. She felt his panic, but she could do nothing about it at the moment. It would run its course, and then she would try again.

  Trembling with an array of emotions, not the least of which was determination, she lifted her chin. She knew in that instant that she would go to war with Micah in order to help him through this nightmare. But she needed to remain emotionally detached, at least for the time–being, and she wondered if she had the strength required for that particular task.

  "The evening meal is usually served at seven. I’ll see you then. We have a lot of work ahead of us, but I hope you enjoy your stay at Rowland House. Cyrus calls it the perfect place for rest and relaxation. When your luggage arrives, you should unpack your clothes without help from anyone. You’ll be less dependent on others if you do for yourself whatever you can."

  Her heart ached for him as she watched him continue to grapple with his rage. She thought he looked as lonely and isolated as a jagged mountain peak. While he simmered in silence, Bliss cautioned in a gentle voice, "No one will be allowed to wait on you, Micah. Your rank is meaningless in my home, so don’t issue any orders. Anyone who caters to you will be shipped out in a matter of hours."

  Bliss slipped out of his suite, pulled the door closed behind her, and then sank back against it. Her hands shook, and her heart raced. Tears filled her eyes, but she angrily brushed them away. She covered her face with her hands until the sound of footsteps coming down the long hallway forced her to compose herself.

  As she straightened and produced a smile for the young enlisted man who carried Micah’s luggage, Bliss knew she’d done the right thing by immediately establishing the ground rules for his stay. She didn’t have any other options with a man like Micah Holbrook.

  "Ma’am, okay if I take Captain Holbrook’s luggage into him now?" he asked.

  "Yes, of course, but do not unpack for him. Simply put his luggage in an accessible spot and tell him its location. Then, excuse yourself."

  "I shouldn’t unpack…"

  "No, you should not wait on him unless he’s been injured or is in danger of stepping into the path of a speeding car."

  Doubt–filled eyes studied her. "You’re absolutely sure, ma’am?"

  She smiled. "Very sure."

  And she was, Bliss realized as she turned and made her way down the long marble hallway.

  2

  Micah ignored the young man who delivered his luggage, just as he ignored the passage of time. As he struggled to master the emotions rioting within, he silently cursed Cyrus Rowland for the hundredth time that day.

  He remained motionless in the chair, his fists clenched and the muscles of his large body knotted with tension. He seethed with the impotent rage of a man denied control over his own destiny.

  Micah resented the uncertainty of his situation almost as much as he loathed the thought of spending the rest of his life dependent upon others. He still couldn’t endure even the possibility of that kind of half–life. He took care of people. No one took care of him. No one, God damn it!

  Neither would he ever accustom himself to being the object of pity. He preferred the finality of death to such an existence.

  A short time later, he heard the sound of footsteps on the patio. Micah immediately recognized them, but he refused to respond to Bliss’s presence even when his senses alerted him to her position in the open doorway.

  "The sun is about to set." She leaned against the doorframe, her gaze captured by the natural beauty of their surroundings. "It looks like a fireball sitting on the edge of the horizon. The breeze has picked up enough to rustle the fronds of the palm trees that border the patio. It should be a beautiful evening."

  She turned away from the view and walked into his suite. "When I was a child, I’d stand out on the back lawn early in the morning, take a deep breath, and then hold it for as long as I could. I thought it was the only way to bring all the wonderful scents of the island into my body. My mother used to tell me that the fragrances of the Caribbean sweetened the heart of the person who cherished them the most." She smiled. "It made sense when I was little, but it seems rather silly now."

  Distracted from his conflicted thoughts, Micah tried to conjure an image of Bliss Rowland by assembling the puzzle pieces of her unusual personality. Earlier, she’d behaved with all of the subtlety of an exploding grenade. Now, though, she sounded almost whimsical. He heard the whisper of a silky–sounding fabric flowing over her body as she moved nearer. Then, he felt her closeness when she paused in front of him.

  The next breath he took filled his senses with her personal fragrance. He recognized it as French and very expensive, and it had a greater impact on him than he expected. He told himself that he had to be insane to be attracted to Bliss Rowland, but he felt drawn to her nonetheless. His reaction angered and baffled him, but he felt helpless to stem the tide of awareness that swept over him and suffused his senses.

  "Good evening, Micah. Shall we start over?"

  He turned his head away from her softly seductive voice. Desire spiked deep inside of him, though, rousing his body so profoundly that he bit back an oath. He almost hated Bliss Rowland for making him aware of himself as a man with a more than healthy sexual appetite. He dug his fingers into the arms of his chair, determined to resist her unexpected appeal. He didn’t move a muscle, although he did wonder how he could want a woman he didn’t know and couldn’t see.

  "I thought you might like to escort me to the dining room."

  "Not hungry."

  "That’s hard to believe. The chef Cyrus sent down with the rest of his staff told me you haven’t eaten since early this morning."

  "Leave me the hell alone," he ordered.

  "You already know I can’t do that, Micah." She sank to her knees between his muscular thighs, reaching out and covering his clenched fists with her small hands.

  He told himself he didn’t want her to touch him. Yet, he craved her closeness, because it meant the promise of a temporary reprieve from the physical isolation he’d experienced since well before his surgery. Why did she understand, he wondered with no small amount of re
sentment, his hunger for simple human contact right now? God damn Cyrus for sending him here.

  "You have every right to be angry with Cyrus," she said, jarring him as she voiced his thoughts. "He’s incredibly high–handed, but I think we both know him well enough to realize that he took control of your life only because he believed you’d lost it. You also have every right to be annoyed with me, especially after our conversation earlier this afternoon. I provoked you in order to get your attention, but my purpose was not to hurt you."

  He felt the strength in her slender hands when she forced open his fists and flattened her palms over his. He gripped her wrists, unable to keep himself from treating her like a lifeline even though he loathed the need within himself.

  "You have to make a decision, Micah. Either this is going to be a battle of wills between us, or you’re going to cooperate with me."

  "I’ve made my decision, so you can leave now."

  "Try again," she challenged.

  Her voice sounded more gentle than he could bear. "Don’t badger me."

  "Since I have no intention of coddling you, I guess you’re stuck with badgering. Listen to me, please. We can’t risk catering to you or babying you right now. Cyrus is worried about you. He sent you here because he trusts me, not because he was trying to punish you. He thinks you’re important. So do I."

  "You don’t even know me."

  She heard his scorn, and she very nearly recoiled in response to the slap of it. He had forgotten her. "I know about you, and I know about all of the little things you once took for granted. I know you can’t use a cell phone or a computer keyboard right now. I know you’re apprehensive about eating a meal in front of people, just as I know that everything you can’t see makes you feel as though you’re moving through a mine field each time you take a step. I know you’re angry that others are making the simplest decisions for you, like what you’ll wear each morning, or how you’ll spend your day. I know you can’t read the newspaper or a book. I also know you feel trapped and isolated, and you’re starting to think you’d be better off dead, because the alternative is to become a burden to your loved ones. What’s happened to you would disorient the strongest, most secure person in the world."