by Kris Norris
At least, that’s what Bridgette had said. Rigs wouldn’t know a cozy atmosphere if it bit him in the ass. Not after growing up bouncing from one foster home to another then spending his adult life in the Marines Corps. Stark. Depressing. Those he understood. The cabin he’d rented a few miles outside of Eagle Rock embraced those qualities. But even lighting a fire didn’t make the place welcoming. Not that he cared. It had the essentials. And Rigs was all about the bare necessities.
The guards at the front entrance saluted as he walked past. They looked competent enough. Not hardened soldiers, but he’d watched the way they’d handled their weapons before holstering them. That told him they could be counted on to cover his ass if things went south.
While he hoped they wouldn’t have to, Rigs never went into an op without knowing if he had backup he could trust. They weren’t Midnight or Ice, but they’d carry their own weight. That was all that mattered.
Rigs turned left at one of the marble planters then quietly slipped out the back door. The sky still held a tinge of red near the horizon, a spider web of stars starting to poke holes in the indigo sky. He took a moment to breathe in the fresh air. Hints of jasmine and cottonwood drifted on the breeze, infused with a touch of pine. He smiled—a rarity for him lately—and headed for the narrow path that wove through immaculately kept gardens and groomed patches of grass. He’d make a circuit—the same one he’d done a dozen times tonight—then return to the main foyer—steel himself against another barrage of gasps as the people left the auction.
It’s for a good cause. Embrace the suck. Nothing new, there.
He repeated the mantra in his head, turning right at the corner of the building, and smacked into a woman standing with her back to the pathway. He inhaled, juggling both their weight as he took several stumbling steps forward before finally regaining his balance. Soft skin passed beneath his palms as he smoothed his hands down her arms before cupping her elbows and keeping her steady until he knew she wouldn’t fall. The woman grabbed ahold of his forearm for a few more moments, digging her fingers into his muscle, before gradually letting her hand fall to her side.
Did he miss the warmth of her touch?
“Shit. Er—sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you before I was on top of you.”
Damn, had it sounded sexual other than inside his head? Because for the first time since Ice had dragged his ass out of the rubble amidst a blanket of gunfire, Rigs felt sexual. Maybe not like his old self, but there was a definite stirring in his pants—the kind he hadn’t experienced since before nearly dying. Since simply getting through each day took every ounce of effort. Yet, one touch of her silky flesh beneath his palms, and bam—his dick took notice.
Thankfully, it wasn’t a full-on boner. Just a twitch. A small surge of blood. But after being basically dead meat between his legs for eighteen months, it felt like a raging hard-on.
Of course, she hadn’t turned and raised her gaze to his, yet. Hadn’t done much of anything other than gasp and breathe. But he knew, in about three seconds, the warm feeling building in his chest would be extinguished. Turn cold and unforgiving like her stare.
She shook her head, inhaling roughly when the motion seemed to shift her balance, again. Rigs stepped closer, holding her tight and praying his dick didn’t decide to swell to full attention. Because there’d be no way to hide it from her. Not with her body hugging his, her ass rubbing against his crotch. Damn, another few passes and he wouldn’t be able to will his growing erection away. Wouldn’t be able to do anything besides apologize after the fact.
The woman steadied herself, her small hands covering his at her waist. “That’s okay. I hadn’t realized I was standing so close to the corner. Guess my count was off.”
Her count was off?
“If I’d been completely focused, I would have noticed you in time to side-step around you.”
She chuckled, gently untangling them then taking a step away as she half turned. “No, really…”
Her voice cut into a gasp as her head whipped around, throwing her off-balance. He caught a glimpse of wide eyes in profile before she tanked to the right. Rigs lunged for her, catching her before she’d tumbled onto the stone path, then tugged her against his chest, again. He splayed one hand across her stomach, the other up by her rib cage as he kept her balanced.
Her heart kicked against his palm, and he didn’t miss the increased rhythm. The shiver that shook through her, or the sound of her frantically drawing in air.
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head, again, visibly pulling herself together. “No. I just…I thought for a moment there was a flash of…” She sighed then slowly slipped free. “It’s nothing. Thank you.”
Rigs stayed close, sweeping his gaze the length of her. He took the opportunity to study her before she finally turned, and it all fell apart. To take in her blonde hair swept up into some kind of clip, and the silver pair of earrings dangling from dainty lobes. Her black dress skimming her form, flaring out just below her waist. It went over one shoulder, exposing the long sleek line of her neck and the hint of her other shoulder blade. Her pale skin gleamed in the early moonlight, and he wished he could hold on to her a bit longer. Give himself time to memorize the feel of her smooth flesh against his hands. The beat of her heart against his palm.
Instead, he slowly released her then stepped back. She shifted her weight, and the gently flowing skirt swished around her knees, showing off black boots with only an inch of height.
She finally turned, but before he could see what color her eyes were—or hide the left side of his face like he normally did—he caught a scratch of claws on stone. Rigs spun just as a large dog jumped over one of the planters, landing square on his chest. They fell back together, hitting hard. A tongue swept up the side of his face—right across the raised scars—followed by a playful bark.
“No. Blade. Leave it.”
Her voice barely sounded above a whisper, but the dog stilled, turned ever so slightly before retreating, circling her ankles then sitting at her left heel.
Rigs pushed onto his hands, watching her as he shook his head. Just his luck, he’d bumped into one of the dog handlers—maybe one still in training because the dog’s behavior seemed…off. Though, he’d thought all the bomb-sniffing dogs had left once the auction had started.
The woman reached down and clicked a leash on the brute, her other hand rising to her mouth. “Oh my god, are you okay? First, I nearly trip you, and, now, this. I’m so sorry. I’d just let him off to have a bit of a run—he gets nervous around people sometimes, and there’re so many inside. We’re both doing some training—adjusting, really—and we needed some air, but I thought we were alone out here. Did he hurt you?”
Rigs laughed. Fuck, he tried not to, but her words came out as an endless stream, all pushed together as if it had been one long word. And the way she was staring at him—Christ, it knocked him off his feet in a completely different way. No horror. No revulsion. Not even idle curiosity that he got from people who wanted to know how he’d gotten the marks.
No, her face was relaxed and flushed, and so damn pretty, it made his chest hurt. Right in the center. Over his withered, shredded heart. She extended a hand—off to the right and not really close enough to help him up—but he didn’t need it. He rose easily to his feet, brushing the dust off his pants.
She jerked upward once he’d risen, lips pursed, her gaze searching in front of her. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. He’s a big boy. What was his name?”
She smiled as she angled to better face him, one hand gently stroking the dog’s head as it sat at her feet, tail thumping, tongue lolling out one side. “Blade.”
“Blade. That’s…different.”
“It’s after the movie. The trilogy. Wesley Snipes. Vampires.”
“Right. He was some kind of half-breed savior or something.”
“Anyway, I’m really sorry. I don’t usually let him loose away from home. He
gets…excited.”
“And playful. Haven’t known a bomb dog to tackle someone who isn’t carrying explosives.” But maybe the animal just had really good instincts. Could smell that Rigs had made a career out of blowing shit up. For all he knew, he had C4 in his blood. Sweated powder out his skin.
If anything, her smile widened, and he swore he heard her chuckling. “Actually, he’s not one of the bomb dogs.” She fidgeted with the end of the handle. “He used to be. Served two years in Afghanistan, but he was…injured. He recovered,” she added as she scratched Blade’s head, again. “But he’s…got some issues. No one would take him, would even consider trying to retrain him. Except I have this friend, Carl, who’s amazing. He trains animals for movies and law enforcement and for personal assistance, and he’s always rescuing them off of death row—giving them a second chance. He figured we’d make a good match, since I needed…” She sighed. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
He didn’t miss the breathy quality to her voice or the hint of flush on her cheeks and neck. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought there was something sparking between them. One of those instant attractions he’d heard about but had never experienced.
“It’s fine. I did nearly bowl you over. So, he’s part of the security here, then? You’re training?”
“Not exactly. We’re just…” She swallowed. “It’s a long story. Anyway, I’m really sorry he knocked you down.”
Rigs narrowed his eyes. There was something different about her. The way she kept tilting her head. The tone of her voice. While he had excellent night vision—maybe not as perfect in his left eye, anymore—the way she was standing with her back to the moonlight, the deep shadows masked most of her expressions, making it hard to get a true reading on her. He kept trying to see what color her eyes were, but he couldn’t make them out in the dim light.
He offered her a smile and prayed he wasn’t simply baring his teeth as his scars pulled at his skin. “No harm done. I hope I didn’t ruin your break.”
“No. I was just about to call him and head back in. If I hide out here much longer, I might never leave.”
She’d said it as a joke. He knew it, but it was painfully obvious there was a healthy dose of truth in her words.
“You’re not a fan of auctions?”
“I’m not a fan of crowds.” She cringed as soon as the words were free before lifting her chin and pursing her lips. “Enjoy your walk. It’s a lovely night. Must be why there were others taking advantage of it earlier.”
“There are others out here?”
“There were. I mean, I heard a lot of footsteps. Scuffing noises. So… But they pretty much stopped after I came out about ten minutes ago.”
Rigs scanned the area. The auction was in full swing. It didn’t make sense that more than one or two of the guests would be walking the grounds. The hairs on his neck prickled.
“I’ll keep an eye out. Perhaps, I’ll see you later. Though, I’ll try not to crash into you, next time.”
The muscle in her jaw clenched, and she looked away. “Right. See you later. Blade, up.”
The dog stood, moving a few steps over with her to a bench that was hidden in the shadows. She turned away from Rigs, fusing with something before shifting back. She had a handle in her left hand, a folded cane in her right.
She seemed to orient herself. “Blade, forward.”
Blade started up the path, walking diligently at her side. Rigs stared after her, unable to do anything other than watch her disappear around the building. Everything shifted into place. Her odd behavior. The dog. Her seeming indifference to his scars. If he hadn’t been half-focused on the way she’d felt in his arms for those precious few moments, or how much he wished he could get her back into them, he would have realized it straight off. Wouldn’t have been an utter ass and told her he’d see her later.
Because his mystery woman wouldn’t see anything later. She was blind.
Chapter 2
Addison Bailey headed for the door on the south side of the foundation, forcing herself to breathe—in then out, then in, again. It should have been easy. She’d spent her entire life breathing without ever thinking about it. But right now—making her lungs work felt like an enormous feat. One worthy of some kind of medal. Because as soon as she stopped consciously drawing oxygen in then blowing it out, her chest constricted, and her throat closed up. She just wasn’t sure if it was because of the guy in the garden or the fact that for a split second, she could have sworn she’d gotten a glimpse of flowering plants, shadowed grass, and large tanned hands gripping her waist.
Which was crazy, albeit possible, considering her usual circumstances. But why her brain would pick, now, to suddenly kick back in when it had been stubbornly locked in the darkness since her injury seemed…insane. Nothing had changed—other than meeting that guy.
Which was also crazy. Surely, having some strange man hold her for all of sixty seconds wouldn’t be the reason her neurons rebooted. Finally allowed her to see, again, when nothing the doctors or psychologists had done over the past year had resulted in any kind of cure.
She tripped a step, stumbling upright just as Blade stopped. She frowned, wondering if he was waiting for her when she realized they’d reached the door. She’d made a habit out of counting each step—a throwback to the months before she’d gotten Blade, where one miscalculation generally ended with something smacking her in the head or shin. But she’d apparently been too busy contemplating her mental state to back Blade up. Not that he needed it.
Despite what everyone had told her—how he’d never make the transition to guide dog, regardless of Carl’s brilliance as a trainer. That she was crazy to put her safety at risk because she felt connected to a dog—one with obvious issues. She didn’t care that he had visible scars. That he had probable PTSD. She had her own demons—the kind that woke her most nights. That haunted her waking hours. All she knew was that the prospect of saving him had saved her. Given her a reason to get up in the morning. Pull herself together in order to be worthy of his efforts. Hell, without him, she probably would have ended up like her sister. Broken. Unable to face the rest of her life scarred and alone.
Addy hadn’t been able to help Gwen. To save her. But she’d been given another chance with Blade. And she wasn’t going to fail—wouldn’t change her decision even if given the chance. For better or worse, they’d learn to cope together. Besides, he’d never let her down, yet.
Addy sighed and glanced over her shoulder. More out of habit than anything else because despite whatever had just happened back in the garden, she knew she wouldn’t see anything. But if she tilted her head just right, maybe she’d hear him.
A shiver wove down her spine, and she rubbed one arm in an attempt to warm herself. She was definitely going crazy. It was the only way to explain her reaction to the guy. She didn’t do emotions—hadn’t since she’d woken up blind in the hospital eighteen months ago. But there was no denying that as soon as he’d grabbed her in an attempt to keep them both upright, her skin had tingled. Actually tingled as if she’d been touched by a live wire. Having him let go so quickly had left her slightly dazed, and she’d had to maintain her grasp on his arm until the world had stopped shifting beneath her feet.
His incredibly chiseled arm. Even through his shirt, she’d felt his muscles flex. They’d been hard, like rock, and she’d had the urge to run her hand across his chest—see if the rest of him matched.
Blade whined, pulling her out of her thoughts. She reached down to scratch his head. She wasn’t the only one apparently effected by the guy. Blade had never reacted like that before. If anything, he shied away from strangers, yet, he’d just pinned one to the ground—barked with the same playful tone he used when she played fetch with him—and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d sensed the same pull she had. If the dog was equally affected by the guy’s charm and gravelly voice. The kind that made her wish she’d stayed a bit longer. Had properly introduced herself so she coul
d hear him say her name instead of calling her ma’am.
She smiled. Remembering how he’d inhaled just before Blade had taken him down. There’d been a frenzied moment of licking and barking before she’d called off the dog. And the guy had laughed. Actually laughed when she’d stood over him, apologizing. He hadn’t seemed at all upset that her hundred-pound mutt had knocked him onto his ass.
She’d heard that, too. A resounding thud. While she was still adjusting to her vision loss, she’d already started developing the sixth sense most blind people seemed to have. An eerie sensation when someone else was in the room, even if she hadn’t heard them come in. Better hearing. It was all a bit unnerving, really.
But, now, she had Blade. And no one was getting close to her without her knowing about it. And if that meant he might knock a few strangers on their asses, well, she wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. The world was a dangerous place, and while she hated to admit it, she was vulnerable, now. There were lots of people—men—who’d enjoy taking advantage of her current limitations. If Blade made them think twice, she was grateful.
Not that every man was that way. He hadn’t been. She could tell by the way he’d held her while she’d been letting the world stabilize—contemplating her sanity when she thought she’d caught a glimpse of her surroundings. His grip had been firm, but gentle, as if he was afraid he might hurt her. And she’d secretly wished he’d stay close. Keep holding her.
But she’d stepped away. And just as well. She wasn’t fit for conversation, let alone anything more. Besides, who’d want to get involved with a woman whose future was a big empty black hole? One wrought from her own devices? She’d planned out her entire life at age six, and until eighteen months ago, she’d been right on track. But now? Now, she was living on a medical leave salary and trying to find the motivation to get through each day.
