Blind Reader Wanted

“What happened to her?”

“Valerie was killed by an insurgent during a mission in Mosul,” he said quietly.

I sucked in my breath. Another life snatched away too soon.

“Three of my buddies were killed that day, but Valerie … she was the only one who chose to die.”

I heard him sigh.

“We should never have been there. We were sent out because of wrong intel. There was nothing in the building. I knew it was a trap even before we stepped out into that compound, but there was no other way out. We were already halfway across when the grenade fucking landed right in the middle of our group. We started to scatter, but my boot got caught on something sticking out of the ground. I went down. Valerie turned around, looked at me and …” Kit took a long breath. “She threw herself on the grenade.”

“Oh, my God!” I whispered.

“It was so simple, Lara. I tripped. That was all. A piece of something on the road, maybe just a tree root, and I fell. Because of that Valerie died.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Somebody once said life is a series of accidents so is death.”

“Oh, Kit, I am so sorry,” I said quietly.

The past became alive in that room. I could tell he was barely holding himself in control. I wasn’t helping him much, because tears were running down my cheeks.

Kit stood up and paced around the room. “Wow, we got into some heavy shit here, huh?”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I said the first thing that came to mind. “Can I see you?”

Kit paused in his pacing.

I held out my hands. “Can I … can I feel your face? I have always wondered what you look like.”

“Why now?”

“I’d like to see the face of the man I will be spending the night with.”

For a long moment he stood frozen, then he spoke, “Valerie saved my life by taking the brunt of the blast, but not all of it. I have horrible scars, Lara.” He sounded wary and distant, as if he expected me to shrink away from wanting to feel his face.

“Don’t we all? Yours are just more visible than most,” I said quietly.

“You sound like a shrink.”

I didn’t say anything and dropped my head, embarrassed that I had asked him for something so personal. I had never done something so bold before.

Then I heard his footsteps come towards me. Quiet, but determined. He knelt on the floor in front of the couch. “I’ll let you see my scars if you let me see your eyes.”

I took my glasses off and held them in my lap.

“There’s nothing wrong with your eyes. Why do you hide them?” His voice was warm and deep.

“My father bought them for me. I think he was afraid someone would say something hurtful about my eyes.”

“Hurtful?” He sounded surprised. “They are different,” he paused. “But they’re not unattractive. They’re you and so they are as beautiful as milky blue marbles. When you are with me, I would prefer if you did not wear your glasses again.”

I nodded speechlessly. No one had ever told me my eyes were beautiful. Not even Ma, and I know, no one loved me more than she did.

His hands were warm as they closed over my fingers. Slowly, he lifted my hands to his face, to his forehead. The skin on his face was even warmer than his hands, as if he was flushed with heat.

Gently, I ran my fingertips over his hot skin. His forehead was broad. Straight, silky hair fell over it. His eyebrows were thick and lush His nose was strong and high. It may have been broken once. His eyelashes were surprisingly stubby and craggy. His cheeks were raspy with shadow. In contrast, his lips were surprisingly soft and full, especially the bottom lip, and his scars: I found them on the left side of his face. From the outer corner of his eye right down to his chin. They were smooth and raised, etchings of pain and suffering. I found myself fascinated by them as I lightly traced them with one finger.

At first Kit flinched as I touched them, but I cupped his face in my hands. “The scars suit you. A man living by himself at the edge of a mountain should have such a face,” I said. “It’s like your story is written on your face in a language only you can understand.”

There was a long moment of silence as he contemplated that.

“You make them sound almost beautiful.”

“They are not beautiful. You are.”

Under my hands, his jaw clenched. Then his hands came up to rest on mine. “Thank you, but that’s not true. I am a scarred and unattractive man. I make little children stare,” he said.

I shook my head. “No. You’re wrong.”

Something feral and primitive began to throb between us and I don’t know what possessed me, but I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his.

Kit drew in a sharp breath and jerked back. In that split second, I realized I might have misjudged the emotion between us. Perhaps I had made a terrible, terrible mistake. Heat rushed into my face as I opened my mouth to apologize, but the air around me moved, and Kit’s lips swooped down on mine. He wrapped his big hands around my shoulders and pulled me in.

He was so careful at first, so hesitant, as if he was afraid he could break me. The stubble on his face pressed against my chin, reminding me of just how virile he was. I suddenly wanted to touch all of him, not just his face. I slid my hand down his chest and that’s all it took for him to lose the tight control he was exercising.

His tongue swept into my mouth ruthlessly, demanding and eager, stealing my breath away. His hands slid up to my hair. He wrapped his fingers into it and pulled gently, then harder, tipping my head back for better access to kiss me just how he wanted. The more eager he became, the more I gave it right back to him, until we were both on the couch, lying against each other, kissing so deeply that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Kit ground against me once, then twice. I felt his shaft, hard and hot through our clothes. Then I heard his breath catch in his chest. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it all through my body, especially right there in my center, right where I was melting from the inside out.

Suddenly he pulled himself away from me.

His absence left me cold, both literally and figuratively. I sat up and reached for him but he gently caught my arms and lowered them to my lap.

“We can’t,” he said harshly.

“Why?” I asked, my voice unrecognizable with confusion and lust.

“You’ll just have to take my word for it that I can’t,” he muttered.

I heard the steely control in his voice. Then he rose and strode away, his footsteps loud and fast, as if he was running away from me. He stopped at the door.

“I’ll go and make your bed.”

Then he was gone. I heard him take the stairs two or three at a time while I sat there, dumbfounded.

What the hell just happened?