Awakened by His Touch

by Nikki Logan

  ‘Why does a blind woman use any of the facial expressions you use? Expressions you’ve never seen or learned. Clearly some things are just innate. Joy and anger and unhappiness—’

  She frowned again.

  ‘—and consternation. Yep, you use that one a lot. I think the rest of us grow up learning how to disguise our expressions more than anything, so yours—when you have them—flash in neon.’

  ‘Neon?’

  ‘Bright light.’

  ‘Not literally, I assume?’

  His chuckle warmed her through.

  ‘No, not literally. But they’re very...honest. Do you want a real world example?’

  Yes. Yes, she did.

  ‘Today, on the sandbar, you were disappointed I didn’t kiss you.’

  She shot upright in her seat and only then realised how comfortable she’d become in it. ‘I was not!’

  ‘Yeah, you were. I could tell.’

  ‘No, you couldn’t.’

  ‘You worked hard to school your features, but your eyes screamed disappointment.’

  Oh, and didn’t he sound pleased with himself about that?

  ‘They did not...’ But it wasn’t very convincing, even to her own ears.

  ‘I wanted to kiss you,’ he murmured.

  Air was sucked into her lungs. ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘Because of something Danny said. It made it feel not right.’

  Danny, who hadn’t had a single meaningful thing to say all day? ‘Danny told you not to kiss me?’

  ‘Danny told me not to take advantage of you. In the afterglow of the flight. And it got me thinking. When I kiss you again I want you to be one hundred per cent present and clear-headed. Not all dosed up with adrenaline.’

  When. Not if.

  She folded her arms across her chest. ‘You’re assuming a lot. I’m not sure I want to kiss you again.’

  ‘Yeah, you do.’ His voice was rich with a smile.

  Yeah. She did. She dropped her head and cursed under her breath. ‘How do any of you have any privacy?’

  ‘We spend a lot of time not looking at each other, I guess—’

  No doubt.

  ‘And not being entirely honest with each other.’

  ‘Clearly a survival strategy I need to work on.’ Though how exactly did one begin to train eyes that had gone rogue not to give away her deepest secrets? And who knew she’d still find anything in life yet to be perfected?

  ‘Don’t joke, Laney. Your honesty is a strength, not a weakness.’

  ‘It’s a vulnerability.’

  ‘You don’t want to be vulnerable?’

  ‘I don’t care for being exposed.’

  The concept hung out there, thick and real.

  ‘Fair enough. How about this? Whenever I’m reading your face I’ll let you know. So we’ll be equal.’

  ‘So I’ll at least know if my privacy is being breached?’

  ‘Come on, Laney. It’s not like you don’t read the slight tone-shifts in my voice or the temperature-changes in my skin.’

  She laughed at the thought.

  ‘I give you my word, as a gentleman, that I will be honest with you about what I’m thinking and seeing when I look at you. If you’ll extend me the same courtesy about reading me.’

  ‘I’m always honest with you.’

  ‘You don’t lie. That’s not necessarily the same thing.’

  His words sank in. He had a point. She did read people—read Elliott—in a dozen ways he probably wasn’t aware of, so was it really any different from him reading whatever messages her eyes were apparently giving off?

  Honesty wasn’t really all that much to ask for. Or to expect.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Can we start right now?’

  ‘Sure.’ Though he’d never sounded less sure.

  ‘I feel like you’re working up to kissing me now, and I...’

  Ugh, honesty wasn’t much fun.

  ‘And you don’t want that?’

  ‘No.’

  Hurt tinged his words like a barely perceptible harmonic. ‘Can I ask why?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Because I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. Kiss you. Tonight, at the chalet. And I’ve kind of talked myself into how that’s going to go.’

  The hurt morphed into a tightness. ‘And how is it going to go?’

  She lifted her chin. ‘Really well.’

  Maybe eyes did a lot more than he’d said, because she was pretty sure she could feel his boring heat into her very soul.

  ‘Far be it from me to ruin a good plan.’

  * * *

  Laney checked in with her parents so they knew she was back and then begged off to go and have a much needed shower. To wash the salt from her skin and hair. To make herself beautiful. Not that she knew what that was or, until today, why anyone would bother.

  But now she got it.

  This was why they bothered. This gorgeous anticipation.

  She wanted Elliott to open that chalet door and see her standing there looking pretty. Better than pretty, really. But short of inviting her mother in here and explaining what she was up to that wasn’t going to happen. And if she trusted Owen with the task she couldn’t guarantee what she’d end up looking like. So she’d just have to work with what she had. Kelly had used her as test dummy enough times that she left a small make-up kit in her bedroom perpetually, the contents personalised to her, and she hunted it down now and quickly fingered her way through it, opening lids and testing the contents. Isolating the bits she recognised.

  Mascara. Lip-gloss. Loose powder. All past their best-by date, probably.

  Not much she could do wrong with any of them if she was careful. Even so, it took her an eternity to apply them, and she was conscious the whole time of Elliott sitting in his chalet, wondering if she’d forgotten. Or just chickened out.

  She almost did. Twice. But determination had never been her weak point, so she ran her brush through her hair one last time and whistled for Wilbur. He came running in from the other room, all toasty and sleepy from the fire, a disbelieving little yowl in his voice when she produced his harness.

  ‘We won’t be outside for long,’ she promised. ‘Then you’ll be warm again.’

  And so would she. Extremely warm. Fingers crossed.

  The audacity of what she was about to do hit her then. A clandestine meeting with a man. A man from the city. A man she might not see again after this weekend.

  But then wasn’t that part of the attraction? And the excitement? And she was twenty-five years old. It was time.

  ‘Hey...’ She poked her head around Owen’s bedroom door.

  The rustling told her he was pushing to his feet. ‘What do you need?’

  ‘Nothing. Just...is my face okay?’

  Ugh... How ridiculous.

  Confusion coloured his response. ‘Compared to who?’

  ‘No. I mean, does it look okay? Nothing out of place?’

  ‘Is that—?’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘No...wait. Are you wearing make-up?’

  ‘Is it or isn’t it applied correctly?’

  ‘Is.’ Typical Owen shorthand. ‘Did you do it yourself?’

  ‘Yes.’ Why else would she be humiliating herself like this?

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Thanks, O.’

  ‘Wait—!’

  But no way was she going to explain a thing to her twin brother.

  Wilbur hurried her more than usual through the still garden and she barely had to tell him where they were going. As if it was such a given. Within minutes her knuckles were on the glossy wood of Elliott’s door.

  ‘Hey,’ he breathed a
s warm air spilled out onto her. ‘I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.’

  ‘Sorry, I was—’ obsessing like a teenager over something that probably doesn’t matter ‘—caught up.’

  ‘Your parents?’

  ‘No, they’ve gone to bed.’

  ‘Come on in. It’s cold.’

  Wilbur didn’t wait to be asked twice and Elliott chuckled as he scrambled in, claws clattering on the timber floors.

  ‘Watch yourself,’ Elliott muttered as he helped her up the steps. ‘There are candles...well, pretty much everywhere.’

  ‘Where did you get candles?’ Though what she really wanted to ask was why.

  ‘I found a packet of tealights in the bottom drawer. For power outages, presumably.’

  ‘And you thought I’d enjoy them?’ she teased.

  ‘I thought I’d enjoy looking at you in candlelight.’

  ‘Well, that seems to be a waste of perfectly good make-up, then.’

  He stopped so suddenly she walked right into him. ‘You put make-up on?’

  ‘You can’t tell?’

  His heat increased marginally as he stepped closer. ‘Is that strawberry lip-gloss?’

  Really? He had to ask? The scent of it was pulsing off her.

  ‘Some kind of berry.’ Her tongue dashed across her lips without being asked. ‘It’s very sweet.’

  Elliott’s voice dropped to a half-growl. ‘I’ll bet.’

  In the silence Wilbur harrumphed and found himself a comfortable spot to flop down.

  ‘So, where are all these candles?’

  ‘Just avoid anything above elbow-height; that should do it.’

  ‘That’s not all that helpful.’

  His low chuckle tickled the hairs on her whole body. ‘Okay, how about we just sit on the sofa.’

  Sofas were generally candle-free. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Anything you need I’ll bring to you. This is a full service date.’

  ‘Is it a date?’

  ‘I consider this a continuation of the first date, so...yeah.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Wow. She was rocking the vocab tonight.

  ‘Wine?’

  Her, ‘Yes, please!’ was almost unseemly in its haste. But when Elliott pressed a glass stem into her hand and she lifted it to her lips she discovered the rather dramatic downside to flavoured lip-gloss. ‘Ugh, this wine is not enhanced by berry flavour.’

  ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you something to take it off with.’

  She felt the coffee table to her left and placed her glass down as he pushed out of his seat. But then his hands were at her shoulders, gently pressing her back into the sofa, and his lips were close against hers.

  ‘I seem to be out of make-up wipes,’ he murmured.

  Did such a thing even exist? Her voice was mostly a chuckle. ‘Shame...’

  Hot lips pressed down onto hers, sliding against the gloss and roaming over her mouth. She arched up out of the sofa to meet them more fully. Hazy heat swelled up and dazzled her senses as Elliott kissed her, mouthing her the way she’d wanted so desperately on the sandbar—tasting and exploring and teasing—torturing her tongue with his. His arms slid around behind her and kept her hard up against him.

  It was like the parasailing again, but her position was reversed. She sighed into his mouth.

  But then he relaxed her into the sofa-back and lifted his head. ‘There—that’s sorted it.’

  For a moment she was too disorientated to speak, but she forced her wits back into line as she straightened in her seat. Back upright like a regular person. ‘Are you now wearing it?’

  His laugh was mostly snort. ‘My sleeve is’

  ‘You’re worse than Owen.’ Her wine returned magically into her hand. ‘So that’s the kissing over with, then?’

  Boo.

  ‘It really wasn’t my plan to maul you the moment you walked in the door...’ He sounded genuinely confused.

  ‘But you couldn’t resist?’

  ‘Opportunity presented itself.’ He leaned into the sofa more fully but his voice didn’t leave her for a moment. He stayed close. ‘And what kind of a host would I be to leave you without assistance? But I haven’t forgotten what you said, so I give you my word the next kiss is entirely up to you.’

  If it was up to her then she’d like to resume kissing right now, actually. But social niceties made that impossible.

  Her breath shuddered in quietly. ‘So I just wanted to say thank you, again, for today. Parasailing was amazing.’

  ‘I agree. It’s going to be hard to go back to solo lifts.’

  ‘You’re so lucky you get to do that whenever you want.’

  ‘Whenever work lets me.’

  ‘You work weekends?’

  ‘I’m working this weekend.’

  Work. That was like a bucket of cold lip-gloss. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Tomorrow, I mean. Not today—definitely not now. But, yes, that’s the sad truth about the lifestyle. You spend so much time funding it you can’t always be free to enjoy it.’

  ‘Guess that’s the difference between your job and mine. I live my love every day.’

  ‘If I wanted to do that I’d have to become a parasailing instructor.’

  ‘Would that be so bad? You’re very good at it.’

  He gave that his usual thought. ‘I’m pretty sure Ashmore Coolidge wouldn’t let me go without a fight. And I’d have to move out of my penthouse. And I don’t know how long I could go before I would feel like I was under-achieving. You know?’

  Back to the realising. ‘Isn’t doing what you love fulfilling your potential?’

  ‘Not if it’s not making you decent money.’

  ‘What about being happy?’

  ‘I’ll be happy when I’m retired.’

  ‘No, you won’t. You’ll be appalled at how much time you have and how much money you might otherwise be making with that time.’

  His chuckle warmed her even more than his closeness. ‘Yeah, probably.’

  Conversation dropped off and Laney fought her natural inclination to flinch when soft fingers lifted a lock of her hair and draped it back, away from her face.

  ‘I can see the make-up now,’ he murmured.

  Yeah, she’d bet he could. He was leaning close enough. ‘Did I do it right?’

  ‘I can barely tell it’s there. Which is probably the point.’ The sofa-back shifted as he did. ‘You always look good. Natural.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So tell me about this kiss you’re imagining. Do you have make-up on in it?’

  ‘When I imagine it, it’s all about sensation. Not really how good we look while doing it.’

  His smile warmed the conversation. ‘Describe the sensations.’

  Discomfort washed through her. ‘Um...’

  He helped. ‘Is it fast or slow?’

  Yeah, this would be easier. ‘Slow.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So it will last.’

  His small grunt said good reason.

  ‘What else?’

  ‘You’re standing. So I have to stretch up to you.’ And press her body against his—but she wasn’t going to share that part.

  ‘Sounds like a lot of work on your part.’

  ‘I don’t mind. It’s worth it.’

  He liberated the wine glass from her and it clanked on the coffee table. Then strong arms pulled her to her feet and he stepped in close. She had to tilt her head to avoid her nose pressing into his chest.

  ‘A good kiss, then?’ he murmured.

  ‘Yep. Just right.’

  Gentle hands lifted hers up and linked them behind his neck. Her body pressed against his, just as it h
ad in her mind. Warm and soft met hot and hard. His hands slid around onto her hips.

  ‘And what’s just right to you, Goldilocks?’ Ragged breath totally betrayed his interest, no matter how casual the hold of his arms.

  Speech was almost impossible past the tight press of her chest. ‘Lazy. Explorative.’

  ‘Who controls it?’ This breathed right against her lips.

  ‘Me, at first.’ She took a long, slow breath. ‘But then you.’

  He immediately suspended his descent. Froze there. Waiting. ‘Then it’s your move, Laney.’

  Yeah.

  Only real kisses weren’t quite as easy as fantasy ones. Every breath pulled in her chest, like Wilbur against his harness when he wanted to be released. But Elliott’s patient silence and oh-so-warm body encouraged her, and she feathered her fingertips up his jaw to rest on his cheek, then pushed up onto her toes to make contact. It didn’t matter that they’d already kissed—that had been him kissing her.

  This was her...

  Initiating a kiss for the first time.

  Her lips fluttered as they met his—half missing his mouth, but all the more exciting for landing so squarely on his full bottom lip by mistake. She loved that bottom lip, though her experience of it was somewhat limited. She hoped to get to know it a whole lot more. A hint of stubble below it scraped her own hyper-sensitive flesh and Elliott’s arms tightened around her, slid up to entwine them and trap her within his embrace.

  The security of his hold gave her courage a boost, and she pressed her kiss more firmly against his receptive mouth, lapping gently at his closed lips until they gave her the access she wanted.

  Elliott bound her closer—into a space she hadn’t even realised could exist—and tangled her tongue with his, challenging her to yield. Fighting for control was fun, but ceding to his experience was a pleasure, and she whimpered as he took over the exploration, roaming and tasting and tormenting with his talented mouth.

  It was just as she’d imagined. Yet so much more.

  ‘And then what happens?’ he ground out as he rose for breath.

  She tipped her spinning head.

  ‘In your perfect kiss, Laney? What comes next?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t let myself think beyond that.’

  She felt his immediate tension everywhere. It pressed against her. The subtle tightening of his muscles even as they loosened—just as subtly—their hold on her.