Undone by His Touch Page 2

  ‘It’s all right, Mr Carstairs, don’t you bother with it. I’ll fetch a brush and pan.’ Chloe hurried back to the laundry, dumped the towels and scooped up her equipment.

  Strangely, on her return he hadn’t moved, as if he was waiting to make sure she did the job properly.

  She’d worked for wealthy people before, some demanding and others so relaxed they barely noticed what went on around them. None would have questioned her ability to do such a simple task. Yet his stillness and the furrow of concentration on his brow told her he had other ideas.

  Chloe crouched before him, brushing up the shards.

  ‘I’ll just be a moment.’ Yet her usually brisk movements seemed slow, her limbs heavy as his silent presence loomed close. Deliberately she turned from the sight of those strong sinewed feet planted wide on the flagstones.

  Ridiculous that even the man’s naked feet looked sexy. He disapproved of her, was checking on her. She didn’t want to feel anything for him.

  ‘Thank you, Ms Daniels.’

  Chloe bit down on a bubble of laughter. Such formality when her mind buzzed with unsettling images of his bare body. Just as well he couldn’t read her thoughts.

  If only he’d move and leave her to get on with this.

  Thinning her lips, she concentrated on locating shards that had spread further than the rest. ‘I think that’s almost—No! Watch out!’

  Too late she saw his heel come down on a splinter as he turned.

  A single, low oath blasted from his lips as bright scarlet bloomed and spread across the flagstones.

  ‘Wait, there’s another one.’

  Chloe scuttled across to pick up the shard. ‘There, that’s all. You can move to the chair now.’

  Above her he stood still as a bronze god, though in the silence she heard the hiss of his indrawn breath. Blood streamed from the gash at his heel.

  Finally he spoke. ‘Perhaps you’d help me, Ms Daniels.’

  Frowning, she got to her feet, put the brush and pan aside and moved closer. What did he want her to do? Surely he had the strength to hop the short distance to the chair?

  ‘You want me to support you?’

  Something like anger flashed across his face and his nostrils flared. ‘Nothing so dramatic.’ He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Just give me your hand.’

  Bewildered, Chloe complied, slipping her hand into his, absorbing the heat and sensation of hard strength surrounding her work-roughened fingers. She registered the ridges of scar tissue across his palm. A shiver of sensation skated up her arm and shoulder, raising the fine hairs on her nape.

  She ignored it and looked into his face. This close she read the tiny lines bracketing his mouth as if he spent more time compressing his lips than smiling.

  His features were stiff and the scar stood lividly on his taut cheek. Fierce energy hummed through him and into her, like a power source without a safety valve, inexorably rising. Tension twisted as she waited for him to speak.

  Her eyes were at the level of his mouth and she watched, fascinated, as his sensuously sculpted lips thinned into a pained line.

  ‘You need to sit down so I can get the glass out. It won’t hurt so much then.’

  His bark of laughter, rough and raw, echoed across the flagstones, jerking her gaze up to those impenetrable dark glasses.

  ‘The pain doesn’t bother me.’

  Chloe frowned. If he wasn’t in pain, then what …?

  He exhaled slowly through his nostrils, his fingers tightening around hers. When he spoke there was resignation as well as an undercurrent of anger in his words. ‘Just lead me to a chair, will you?’

  ‘Lead …?’

  ‘Yes, damn it. Haven’t you realised you’re talking to a blind man?’

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE silence pounded with the beat of blood roaring in his ears. He held his breath with anticipation, waiting for the inevitable gush of sympathy.

  It was all he could do not to fling away from her.

  He didn’t want sympathy. He didn’t want company. But he couldn’t afford the luxury of managing for himself. He’d probably end up with a foot full of glass, or, having lost his bearings completely, a black eye from walking into the pergola.

  Almost he didn’t care. Yet he retained enough pride not to want to make a complete fool of himself before her. He did that often enough when he was alone.

  Frustration surged and his muscles tightened as he thought of his frequent tumbles, his inability to do half the things he’d always taken for granted.

  ‘Of course,’ she murmured. ‘I apologise. I hadn’t realised you couldn’t see.’ Her words were the same as before, cool, crisp, not a shred of syrupy sympathy and for a moment he stood, startled.

  Then she lifted his arm, wrapped hers around his torso and wedged her shoulder beneath his armpit. ‘If you lean on me it will be easier.’

  She might have been a nurse with her brisk practicality. If he was reasonable he’d be grateful for her no-nonsense attitude.

  But the soft press of her breast against his side, the cushioned swell of her hip against his thigh, the sudden scent of vanilla and sunshine as her hair tickled his bare chest and arm, made him anything but reasonable.

  How long since he’d held a woman close? Would he ever again?

  ‘No!’ Declan yanked his arm free, shoving her aside rather than feel the teasing brush of that rounded feminine form. ‘I can do it myself. Just show me the way.’ His other hand tightened around hers as frustration rose.

  ‘Very well.’

  Without another word she stepped forward, leading him. Declan put his weight on his good foot, and then supported himself on the ball of the injured one.

  She didn’t go too fast. Nor did she shilly shally and ask if he could keep up. It had taken him weeks to cure David of that and David was the best PA he’d ever had.

  ‘There you are. The chair is to your left.’ She took his left hand in hers and pulled him gently forward till he touched metal. ‘There’s the arm of it.’

  She said no more but waited till he manoeuvred himself round and down into the seat.

  ‘If you wait a few moments I’ll go and get the first-aid kit.’

  ‘I’ve got nowhere else to go.’

  There was an almost inaudible huff of sound, as if he’d surprised a laugh out of her. Then she was gone and he was alone.

  He should be used to it now, this sense of isolation. Sometimes it grew so intense it morphed into a crawling fear that one day he’d be left so completely alone in the dark he’d never be with others again. A childish terror, but one that still woke him in the middle of the night, chest heaving and heart pounding as he reached out, clawing at the inky darkness that enveloped him.

  Declan reminded himself that solitude was what he’d always come to the mountains for. A change from the hectic pace of his overloaded schedule. His usually overloaded schedule.

  No longer. He’d had to delegate more to keep up, despite David’s assistance.

  Anger, his ever-present companion, snarled in his veins—till he reminded himself he’d been the lucky one.

  Instantly the familiar fog of regret and guilt enveloped him. His stomach twisted. He should be thankful to have survived. Yet he couldn’t convince himself it was for the best. His failure made this prison of blankness even more unbearable. If only he’d …

  ‘Here you are. I’ve brought the first-aid supplies.’ That voice again, cool and clear, yet with a richness that made him wonder what her singing voice was like.

  ‘You had no trouble finding me, then?’ Sarcasm was poor repayment for her assistance, but the caged beast that raged and growled inside demanded outlet. Declan’s usual means of using up excess energy—skiing, climbing and sex—were denied him.

  Sex was possible, he supposed. He’d have to get someone like this efficient housekeeper to find and dial the numbers in his private directory. For a moment he diverted himself, wondering how she’d react if he asked her to ring his
ex-lovers. Would she sound so prim and proper then?

  But he couldn’t stomach the thought of sympathy sex. For that was what it would be.

  Scorching anger churned in his belly. What woman would want him now?

  He refused to be the object of anyone’s pity, grateful for the crumbs they deigned to dole out now he was so much less than he’d been. Even the doctors played that game, holding out the possibility his sight might return, though never guaranteeing it.

  ‘Your foot must be paining you after all.’ He heard her put something on the paving stones.

  ‘You know that for a fact, do you?’ He’d got tired in hospital of the staff dictating what was best for him and how he should feel. Till he’d discharged himself early and come here to recuperate in private.

  ‘I’m guessing. You’re cranky, but I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt in thinking there’s a reason for your tone.’

  To his surprise, his mouth lifted in a twist of amusement that pulled unused muscles tight. He couldn’t remember smiling since the accident.

  ‘Where’s your sympathy for the poor maimed invalid?’

  ‘Probably the same place your manners are.’ She paused and lifted his foot carefully to place it on something cushioned. A towel on her lap? For some reason he rather enjoyed the idea of her kneeling at his feet.

  ‘Besides,’ she said as he felt gentle fingers touch his heel, ‘You’re not an invalid.’

  Declan’s mouth tightened and his hands curled into fists. Great, just great: another happy-clappy optimist. Just like the last rehab worker.

  ‘What do you call this, then?’ he jeered, jerking a hand in the direction of his glasses.

  ‘Just because you can’t see doesn’t mean you’re an invalid. The man I saw doing lap after lap in the pool was fitter and more agile than most people I know.’ Her hold on his foot changed. ‘This may hurt a little.’

  It hurt a lot, but Declan was used to pain now. Getting walking again on that bad leg had taken more guts and determination than anything he’d ever done. It had been harder even than turning his back on family connections when he was a kid determined to build a business his own way.

  ‘Most people can see what they’re doing.’ Was she deliberately obtuse?

  ‘Are you looking for sympathy?’

  ‘No!’ Not that. Just …

  Hell. He didn’t know what he wanted. Just that he was tired of do-gooders telling him to look on the bright side.

  ‘Good.’ She pressed something to his heel. ‘This is just to stop the blood. I don’t think it needs stitches but I’d like the bleeding to slow before I dress it.’

  ‘You’re one tough cookie—is that it?’ For the first time he wondered what sort of person his housekeeper was. What had made her so cool and capable in the face of a growling employer who wasn’t fit company for anyone? ‘Are you trying to prove yourself to me?’

  ‘I’m simply trying to help so you don’t get an infection in this foot.’ Not even a hint of impatience in that controlled tone. For an unsettling moment Declan was reminded of his kindergarten teacher who’d had a way of quieting rambunctious little boys with just a look.

  ‘What are you smiling at?’

  ‘Was I smiling?’ He firmed his mouth into its habitual line.

  ‘This may hurt.’

  Good. It might focus his straying mind.

  Pain sliced through him as she applied antiseptic.

  ‘What do you look like, Ms Daniels?’

  For the first time she hesitated. Intriguing.

  ‘Average,’ she said firmly.

  ‘On the tall side,’ he amended.

  ‘How do you know?’

  Declan shrugged. ‘The way you fitted under my arm.’ He paused. ‘What else?’

  ‘Is this really necessary?’

  ‘Indulge me. Think of it as the job interview I never gave you.’

  ‘You’re saying my job’s in doubt?’ For the first time a hint of emotion coloured her voice. Panic?

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not that unreasonable, just curious.’

  He heard a huff of exasperation and then she was winding a bandage around his foot with deft movements that assured him she knew exactly what she was doing.

  ‘I’ve got light hair, light eyes and pale skin.’

  ‘Freckles?’ Why he bothered to tease when he couldn’t see her reaction he didn’t know. But despite her calm responses Declan felt her disapproval. It shimmered around him. Tired as he was of his own company and his limitations, even that was preferable to solitude.

  How pathetic could he get? Taunting the woman because he was bored, bitter and defeated by the guilt that clung like a shadow.

  ‘Yes, as it happens. A few.’ Her voice dropped a little and he caught a husky edge as she snapped shut the first-aid kit.

  Declan surged to his feet. ‘Thanks. Now, if you’ll just lead me to the edge of the pergola, I can find my way from there.’

  Chloe stopped in the open doorway to the vast book-lined library. It had been updated with a state-of-the-art computer on the antique cedar desk and a phone that looked like it could hold conference calls to several countries simultaneously. Hand raised to knock, she paused at the sound of Declan Carstairs’ voice.

  ‘OK, David. There’s no help for it, you’ll just have to stay there. Don’t worry about it.’ Her employer thrust a hand back through his hair in a gesture of clear frustration. ‘No, don’t send one of the junior staff in the meantime. I don’t want anyone here gawping and …’ He hunched his shoulders. ‘Never mind.’

  He turned and she caught his expression. His face was drawn with weariness. Lines etched the corners of his mouth and furrowed his brow. Then she caught a glimpse of his eyes and wondered with a jolt if it was tiredness or something akin to despair that shadowed his face.

  The notion surprised her. He’d seemed so vibrant, so arrogantly in control just half an hour ago. Even as he’d been dependent on her to lead him and remove the glass from his foot, there’d been no question but that he’d been the one calling the shots, and not just because he paid her wages. The force of his personality made him dominate any situation.

  ‘No, I’ll just have to wait till you—’

  He broke off and lifted his head as if scenting the air, his head swinging round inexorably to where she stood in the doorway.

  Dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that was unnerving.

  Even knowing he couldn’t see her, Chloe had to resist the urge to straighten her neat skirt and blouse or lift a hand to ensure that flyaway curl hadn’t escaped again. Heat trickled through her veins and her skin flushed.

  ‘Call me later, David, and update me.’ He disconnected the call and stepped towards her, his eyes never wavering.

  Was it an illusion that his gaze connected with hers? It had to be. Yet Chloe felt a strange breathlessness facing that hard, handsome face, as if he saw her with a clarity no-one else ever had.

  ‘Ms Daniels. How long have you been there?’ His voice dropped to a velvet-soft murmur that signalled danger.

  How did he know she was there? She hadn’t made a sound. The hairs rose on the back of her neck at the idea he’d somehow sensed her presence.

  ‘Not long. I was about to knock but I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation.’

  His mouth firmed and his nostrils flared as if with impatience. ‘In future make your presence known immediately. Given my … impairment, I like to know when I’m not alone.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Especially when I’m discussing business. I have a particularly delicate negotiation underway at the moment and I prefer to keep the details private. Understood?’

  Chloe’s mouth pursed, holding in indignation. Did he think her a potential corporate spy?

  ‘Of course.’ Stung at his assumption she’d tried to eavesdrop, Chloe hastened to explain herself. ‘I came to find out if you’d like lunch soon.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘What have you got pla
nned for me? No, let me guess—coddled eggs and toast. Or soup. Soup is always good.’

  Chloe frowned, her mind racing through the contents of the pantry and what she could make quickly from scratch.

  ‘If you like soup I could manage that.’

  ‘I don’t like,’ he growled, pacing towards her, close enough to block her view of the room and fill her senses with his presence. ‘I’m sick of bland food and being fussed over. The housekeeper the agency sent in your absence thought I needed cosseting to build my strength. If she’d had her way I’d have lived on omelettes and junket.’ He shook his head, lifting a hand to rub his stubbled chin.

  Unwillingly Chloe’s eyes followed the movement, noting the hard, intriguing angle of his jaw and the line of his powerful throat. A faint citrus scent teased her nostrils and she wondered if he’d lathered himself with lemon soap in the shower. She swallowed. He hadn’t buttoned his shirt. It hung loose, revealing glimpses of taut golden skin and a smattering of dark hair.

  Her breath stilled as she recalled him emerging from the pool: naked, wet and virile. Her mouth dried.

  Horrified to find her gaze following a narrow line of dark hair to the top of his faded jeans, Chloe yanked her attention back to his face, her cheeks glowing.

  Anyone less in need of building up she had yet to meet. He was all hard-muscled energy and husky, powerful lines. She’d never met a man so vibrantly alive. So confrontingly masculine. Her stomach gave a strange little shimmy just being close to him.

  ‘I hadn’t thought in terms of … building up your strength.’ Again her gaze strayed and she firmly yanked it back to his face.

  Despite her embarrassment, amusement rose at the idea of trying to cosset this man like a child. The previous housekeeper must have had her work cut out trying to feed him invalid food. Had she really tried to serve him junket? Chloe wouldn’t have dared.

  ‘What was that?’ His brows arrowed down ferociously as if he’d heard the laugh she stifled.

  ‘Nothing, Mr Carstairs.’ She paused. ‘I’d planned chicken tikka-masala burgers with cucumber raita and lime pickle for lunch. But if that doesn’t suit …’