Blindsided (10 page)

She shifted uneasily in the seat, the poly-based, imitation leather sticking to her in very unladylike places through the filmy material. Her cheeks heated. In these narrow quarters he could most definitely smell the reminder of her arousal. Tomorrow’s headline: Idyliss legacy ends with last remaining heir’s murder!
 

Except I’m not the last one.
And
that
was the reason she’d agreed to this dinner in the first place: Because she needed to find out if Garret was trustworthy enough to hold not just her life in his hands, but her freedom as well—which was far more important as far as she was concerned.

The desire to glance at him and see if she could make out any of his features, yeah right, had her cracking her eyes open.

Shouldn’t have done that. She saw him alright, his broad outline, highlighted against the epileptic flash of sky towering metal and the western setting sun. Her stomach revolted, she gasped, choking back on the acidic lump, and squeezed her eyes shut again.

“You okay?” There was a definite note of concern in his voice. Good. Concern was good. Imbalanced rapists and/or killers weren’t concerned for their victims, were they?

She cleared her throat. “Fine. Just motion sickness.”

The craft went into a sudden deceleration, and received a blaring reminder from the car behind them that there was a minimum speed on the sky-lanes as well as a speed-limit. Their movement picked back up.

“I’m not going that fast,” he told her, “under the limit.”
 

She swore she heard a frown in his voice.

“No.” She waved her hand, keeping her eyelids glued together this time. “I can see just well enough that if I keep my eyes open at any speed above a crawl, I get nauseous.”

“How much
can
you see?”

She decided not to answer that. Keep him guessing. Better he didn’t know the full extent of her abilities. If she ever needed an edge—assuming it was light enough for her to see his general position—then she might have a momentary advantage. Of course, that wouldn’t help her now. The sun was almost down and she was in a car with him, alone, going who knew where.

“Where are we going?” she blurted out the question. Her voice hitched a bit. Great. And now he knew she was nervous.

“Dinner,” he finally answered after a long moment of silence. “Thought that’s what we agreed on.”

“Yes, but
where
are we going to dinner?”

“This little place I know,” he replied, obviously amused with her impatience.
 

She huffed.
 

He let loose the small chuckle she’d heard hiding under his tone of voice. “Trust me, Aria. The food is to die for.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

He gave a full-bellied laugh. She snapped her head around, her eyes flying open before she remembered and pressed the lids tight again.

“What?” she ground out between teeth clenched mostly in aggravation, and only partly to keep the snack bar she’d had as a late breakfast/early lunch from coming up again.

“You should see your expression,” he explained. “You look like you want to strangle me with your bare hands.”

“Good idea.”

A touch. Calloused fingers traced a path across her scrunched up brow and down to the side of her temple where he began to rub small circles of ecstasy upon her skin.
Feels so good.
The muscles in her body released, starting at her hairline and draining all the way down to her toes. The nausea abated, and the headache she didn’t even know she had retreated back into the base of her skull and kept on running. Magic hands. Maybe Viadal had found a descendent of Merlin and spliced him into Garret’s gene pool.

“You’re too tense.”

“Hmmm…” she leaned into the pads of his forefinger, “maybe you’re right.”

“I’m right?” his tone was amused. “Wow, a woman admitting a man is right. I should write this down, have you sign and date it and send it off to Guinness.”

“Fine, whatever,” she mumbled. “Just don’t stop.”

“No worries, Aria, we’re just getting started.”

The promise, no the threat, crashed through the haze of pleasure. She stiffened and broke the contact, scooting as far away from him as the small craft would allow. He didn’t touch her, but she could hear the air being drawn in and out of his nostrils as he tried to tame whatever reaction her rejection had brought out in him.

Say something. You’re the idiot who led him on then overreacted when he made a move. He’s probably thinking you’re certifiable now.

“I… uh—”

He cut her off. “We’re here.” Then in a lighter tone, “Hope you like Italian. Papa Remonas is the best on the south side of the city.”
 

“I’m sure it’s fine.” She attempted to keep her tone as light as his, grateful he was trying to help her move past the awkward moment.

Suddenly the craft tilted and dropped off the edge of the sky-lane. Her hand flew out, finding the dash. She braced herself against the cool polymer surface as he did a quick set of maneuvers, not bothering to slow as he traversed the treacherous distance between the rigorously patrolled sky-lanes through the uncontrolled, everyone-for-themselves passage of the middle sky, to the all but antiquated highways and road system below.
 

“You
are
imbalanced, aren’t you?” she asked when they were safely on the ground and had come to a stop in a dark, quiet parking lot. And gee, wasn’t she lucky, not one of her many imagined scenarios of their craft smashing into a building as he swerved to avoid a head-on collision had come true.

Instead of the chuckle she expected there was a quick intake of breath. “And where did you hear that?”

“What?” She gestured toward the sky through the roof of the car. “You don’t think that little airway stunt course you just took us on qualifies a man for being crazy?”

“You didn’t say crazy.”

Shit. She’d said
imbalanced
, which was the term she’d read in the director’s report. Had Garret been told what was in there?

“Crazy, unstable, off your rocker, cracked, demented—” she was getting on a roll now.

“You said imbalanced.”
 

“Well that fits, too!” she accused, letting her indignation at being put on the hair-raising ride come through in her voice…and hoping he’d think the smell of her fear was because of that as well.

She held her breath; he didn’t, but his came in soft even intakes and exhales of air as they both thought, or in her case panicked, in silence.

“So…” His door whooshed open and his foot ground firmly upon the gravel. A couple seconds later, her own door opened and a large hand moved from her elbow to her hand as he offered his assistance. “Do you like Italian?”

“And if I didn’t?” she asked, allowing him to draw her from the car.

“I’d say that you’ve never had Italian like this and needed to try it.”

“Then I guess I’m trying it now, aren’t I?”

***

They had to wait for a table. Remonas, though not in one of the more prestigious areas of the metro area, had made a name for itself with their cozy atmosphere and outstanding, authentic Italian menu. The inside was buzzing with lively conversations, clattering dinnerware, and the underlying strains of ethnic music. Given the packed entryway, a table would be a long time coming. Aria suggested going somewhere else—trying to hide her unease at the miniscule amount of space the potential diners were allowed—but Garret refused. A side comment to the host—and probably a slick transfer of credits—earned them a secluded bench in the small gardens behind the building and a bucket of wine to pass the time.

“How much did you give him?” she asked, taking a sip of the crisp white wine.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She waved her free hand at the surrounding night. “We had to pass through the kitchens to get here. This is obviously an employee’s only area, yet we’re here.”

“I thought you might prefer the fresh air and quiet atmosphere,” he said, his knee brushing hers and sending a ripple of electricity through her.

“I’ll give you quiet.” She sniffed, wrinkling her noise at the distinct smell of garlic.
 

“You seriously don’t like Italian?”

She could hear the incredulity in his voice and had to work hard not to smile.
 

“No.” She twisted the wine glass in her hand. “I love it. Just not the smell of garlic.”

“You made it sound like you didn’t.” His knee brushed hers again, stayed. Her internal temperature rose about two degrees.

She lifted and dropped her shoulders, deciding she was overacting to the casual contact. “I wanted to see what you’d do.”

She expected some sort of flippant response, possibly even a come on, but instead was rewarded with an extended pause of silence. She got the feeling he was studying her. She wondered what he saw, then immediately decided she might rather not know. Men seemed to want to place her in one of two categories. Either a) A woman to conquer—because of her business and financial success or b) a woman in need of protection—because of her blindness. If she ever allowed herself to form a relationship with a man, it would be someone who considered her a partner, an equal. She didn’t delude herself into thinking she had a chance with Garret—not with the Uncle Sam watching him so closely—but she found it would hurt to know he viewed her the same way others had.

“You know,” he broke her from her thoughts, “for someone who’s blind, you don’t seem to have many fears.”

“Oh?” She had to fight the urge to laugh. If only he knew. She feared everything. She feared exposure. She feared Byron. She feared…being alone.

“You don’t know me from Adam. In fact, you know just enough that the average person would be terrified to be around me, yet you’ve allowed yourself to be isolated from others, putting yourself fully at my mercy.”

“Aren’t you the one that told me to trust you?”

Rough knuckles skimmed over her cheek, his thumb trailing gently over her lips.
 

“And do you?” he asked, the same hand traveling down the side of her throat, floated over the pulse that flitted at the base.

Her breath hitched. Fear and logic warring with a need she hadn’t realized she could feel. Logic won and she shifted back slightly, breaking the contact, and then immediately regretted the invasion of her reason.

She cleared her throat. “Willis knows I went with you. Harming me would earn you a one way ticket to see your other brothers in care facilities.”

“How do you know about that?” he asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

Stupid me and my big mouth again.
 

She gulped down a swallow of wine. “That’s what my aunt said they did with the unsuccessful experiments.”

“I see.” A lone cricket chirped, punctuating the silence. “And do you see me as an experiment?”

“No.” She lowered the wine to the bench, keeping her face toward him. “I see you as a man.”

He drew in a deep breath. She picked up the increase in his body temperature, the answering scent of attraction which rose from them both. Playing with fire. Did she want this? She found herself leaning closer in answer to her own question. Anytime now his hand would slip behind her head, the other sliding around her waist and he would meld her against his tightly honed body. Just like in one of the scenes from her mother’s old movies—
now, if only I had a face to replace the actors with.

“Still,” he said, shattering her little daydream. There was some consolation in that his voice was rougher than normal, but not enough. “You’re brave to go off alone with any man, let alone a Viadal.”

To her that didn’t matter. And she needed him to know that.
 

“You’re just a man, Garret.” She started to lift her hands, stopped herself. Idiot. Movies are
not
based on real life. But what harm would it really be? He couldn’t do anything to her here. And she honestly didn’t think he would. The truth was she did trust him. He was maybe one man in a small handful that could ever be a true threat to her physically, she’d known him less than a day…and she would already trust Garret with her body.
 

But not your freedom
, a nagging voice reminded her.
 

Right, Garret might be trustworthy, but the people who’d made him weren’t. She didn’t dare let this develop further. Still, the other voice in the back of her head, the one full of curiosity and longing, wouldn’t shut up.
This is it. Your only chance. Leap.

Fine. But after dinner she’d go home and never see or think of Garret Evans again.
 

She tilted her head questioningly, fingers tingling in response to a foolish need. “May I?”

“May you what?”

“Touch you. I can’t see so…”
 

His hands closed over hers. A pang of disappointment struck her breast. She’d been curious since the first impression she’d gotten of him.
 

The grip on her wrists shifted, his rough hands sliding over hers. He drew them closer, up and over his chest, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him but not close enough to actually touch the sculpted muscle. Her breath stuck in her lungs, anticipating the hard planes of his face under her sensitive fingers. It wasn’t the same as seeing, but with her heightened senses—and a vivid imagination—it was close.