Golden Christmas (6 page)

He felt so unsure of himself. In his head she
was an incredible beauty—far too pretty to be interested in a blind
man with nothing to offer her. Maybe he should accept that no woman
would be interested in him now, and be happy with his own
company.

"I watched a movie once," she said, "where a
blind woman touched a man's face to 'see' him. Would that work for
you?"

Jonathan's heart jumped and pounded so loudly
he could hear nothing else for a moment. He turned his hand and
gripped hers. "You'd let me do that?"

"If you want to."

He nearly laughed but caught the impulse. He
wanted to touch her so much it hurt—could she not sense that? He
swallowed and pressed the side of his fist to his mouth, taking a
moment to gather his composure.

The sofa squeaked and bounced as she shifted,
then her leg rested beside his. "Go ahead."

So she
could
read his emotions,
probably from his expression. He felt vulnerable knowing she could
read his face while he had no idea how she felt about him.

He'd heard of blind people "seeing" faces
with their fingers as well, but this was a first for him, and this
was far more complex than simply forming a mental picture of her.
His desire to touch her was as much to do with intimacy.

Vicky took his hand and pressed his palm
against her cheek. Jonathan stopped breathing as he caressed her
smooth skin. He framed her face between his hands and gently
stroked the fine line of her eyebrows, her forehead and cheekbones,
the slender shape of her nose.

When his fingertips brushed her lips, a
tremor of need went through him, closely followed by a burst of
loneliness so sharp it brought tears to his eyes.

He stilled his exploration and closed his
eyes, hoping Vicky wouldn't see his tears. He should drop his
hands, but he couldn't pull away. The feel of her skin beneath his
fingers gave him more than an image in his mind, more than a burst
of desire. For the first time in four years he felt alive again,
alive in the way a man only feels when he touches a woman and
absorbs her warmth and softness.

"Jon." Vicky rested her hands over his and
moved them, sliding them down to cup her jaw, then into her hair
where his fingers brushed the delicate shape of her ears among the
silky strands.

He wanted to fall forward into her, lose
himself in this woman in gratitude for giving him this moment. Even
if it was all he ever had with her, he would never forget.

"Do you see me in your head now?" Her voice
was soft, a little husky, and the tone stroked across his
senses.

"I see you and I feel you. You have no idea
how amazing it is."

She pulled her hands away from his, and he
missed her touch for a moment before her fingers stroked his cheek
and she cradled the side of his face in a hand. "I see you too,"
she said.

He felt wetness on her cheeks and wiped away
her tears with his thumbs. "Don't cry."

She sniffled and turned her face into his
palm. "You're the first man I've really seen since I lost my
husband."

Jonathan leaned towards her and rested his
forehead on hers, that slender nose of hers bumping his. Emotion
rose in his chest, a hot tide of need and hope like ocean waves
tumbling on a barren, dry beach.

He wanted a woman to love, a woman to share
his life with. Only in the hazy moments before sleep when he was
tired and lonely did he admit how much. When anyone asked, he
pretended he was fine on his own. Sometimes he even believed the
lie.

"I've been so lonely, Jon. It's my own fault
but…"

The catch in Vicky's voice roused his
protective instincts. He drew her closer and wrapped his arms
around her, pressing his lips to the fragrant silk of her hair.
"I'm here for you. Whatever you need. I'm here."

She snuggled into his chest. The tantalizing
feel of her hands traveled over his ribs and back as they clung
together. "These past two days have been incredible for me," he
whispered. "To have you here is…" He wasn't good at explaining how
he felt. Better to show her.

Jonathan slid his fingers among the silky
strands of her hair, cradled her head, and lowered his face until
the warmth of her breath touched his skin. Then he pressed his lips
to hers.

Vicky
tossed and turned all night, her dreams full of Jonathan, his
gentle fingers on her hair and face. She longed for him to kiss her
again, to feel his lips against hers and his hands on her skin.

She floated in a sleepy haze of desire for
this man she'd known for only a few days. Then a memory of Colin
drifted through her mind, and the feelings for Jonathan were washed
away by a surge of guilt and shame, jolting her awake. How could
she be attracted to Jonathan when she loved Colin? He'd been her
childhood sweetheart, her soul mate, the only man she'd ever wanted
to be with.

Yet as she tried to picture Colin's face, she
couldn't. Breathless with distress, she grabbed her phone from the
nightstand and scrolled to her precious photographs of Colin and
Josh. She loved them both so much. If she forgot them and moved on,
it would be as though they'd never existed, and she couldn't let
that happen.

She scrubbed a hand over her eyes. Being with
Jonathan confused her, leaving her mind in a tangle. She trusted
him and enjoyed his company, but she didn't want him to push her
husband and son out of her thoughts—especially not at this time of
year when she should be remembering them more than ever.

Sitting up, she pushed back her tangled hair.
Although Jonathan lived right next to her room, she'd have to find
a way to avoid him today. She needed space to get her head straight
and sort out her priorities. Otherwise he'd continue to slip past
her defenses and creep deeper into her affections.

Footsteps creaked on the floorboards outside,
along with the click of Honey's claws. She glanced at the time on
her phone and realized it was morning. Jonathan must be taking his
dog outside. Once he was back in his apartment, she would slip out
and go for a long run to avoid him for a while.

Instead of going away, the footsteps came
closer, then a knock sounded on her door. "Blast," she whispered.
She could ignore him and let him think she was asleep, but she
didn't want to.

Using the footstool, she climbed down from
the high bed and pulled on the fluffy robe she'd found on the back
of the bathroom door.

She opened the door a crack and glanced out.
Jonathan stood there in his padded blue jacket and jeans with Honey
at his side. Then she remembered he couldn't see what a mess she
looked, so she opened the door wider.

"Honey and I wondered if you'd like to come
and play ball with us?" Jonathan grinned and held up the yellow
tennis ball in his long fingers, those fingers that had caressed
her face and hair and explored more intimate places in her
dreams.

Vicky pressed a hand to her chest against a
whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She wanted to spend time with
him, but she shouldn't. "I've only just woken up. I'm not dressed
yet."

"Oh. Sorry to disturb you. Hope it isn't too
early." Jonathan frowned. "I tend to get up when Honey does."

"No, it's not you, it's me. I'm late getting
up. I didn't sleep well."

"I hope the bed's comfortable."

"The bed's wonderful. I just have things on
my mind."

Jonathan backed off a pace, sympathy written
on his face, obviously thinking she was referring to her husband
and son, just as she'd intended him to.

His shoulders dropped and he pushed the ball
in his pocket. "Maybe I'll see you later then." He turned and
walked away, tapping his cane on the wall. Guilt flashed through
her, and she hated herself for disappointing him.

"I want to have a run this morning," she
said, raising her voice. "Perhaps we can do something this
afternoon?"

Jonathan stopped and turned, the grin back on
his face. "I'll give you the guided tour of the house, if you
like."

"That would be great."

"A guided tour it is then, followed by tea
and cake."

Vicky dressed in running gear and did her
muscle stretches on autopilot. Her thoughts lurched from Colin and
Josh to Jonathan and back, her emotions a snarl of grief, guilt,
hope, and a low-burning excitement that brought on more guilt. She
ran down the stairs and burst out into the frosty air, her breath
steaming as she jogged along the path around the house and headed
to the long route that followed the boundary of the twelve-acre
garden.

She needed to push herself to the limit and
exhaust herself so she couldn't think. Yet the harder she tried to
ignore her troubling feelings, the more they crowded in on her.
Even with music pounding in her ears at full volume, thoughts of
Jonathan crept into her mind—how understanding he'd been when she
bared her soul in the pub, his obvious joy at meeting the puppies,
the gentle way he'd touched and kissed her.

She staggered to a halt on the ridge above
Rosemoor Hall and bent, hands on her thighs, chest heaving, sweat
pouring off her. This wasn't achieving anything except nearly
killing her.

Gradually she recovered her breath and
straightened. She turned her back on the house and stared unseeing
at the idyllic rural view.

Would Colin be upset if he knew she had
feelings for another man? Stupid question. Of course he wouldn't.
He'd tell her to move on and live her life. He'd want her to be
happy again. But that was so unfair. Why had he been taken when he
was such a good, kind man, and such a loving father?

Tears flooded Vicky's eyes. She slumped down
on a block of stone, pulled off her gloves, and rested her head in
her hands. Her memories of what Colin and Josh looked like had
faded. Soon her two boys would only exist in photographs.

Vicky must have spent hours huddled on the
rock, her arms wrapped around her knees. When she heard Jonathan
calling her name, the sky hung low, gray and overcast. Dusk had
come early, shadows casting dark menacing blotches on the path.

Stirring, she rose, her muscles too stiff to
run, her hands so cold she could hardly bend her fingers. She trod
carefully down the slippery steps, already icing over in the late
afternoon chill, and headed across the lawn. Jonathan stood outside
the back door, under the arc of the security light. Honey bounded
over to greet Vicky, and she smoothed the dog's fur with numb
fingers.

"Sorry," she said as she drew closer to him.
"I lost track of time."

"You've been out for hours. Aren't you
cold?"

She could hardly feel her feet and realized
she was shivering. "Just a bit."

When she reached Jonathan, he extended an arm
and touched her shoulder, sliding his hand down to hers. "Your
fingers feel like ice. Come inside. I'll make you a cup of
tea."

He kept hold of her hand as he turned back to
the door and nudged it open with his shoulder. "Come on, Honey.
Time to go inside. Come on, girl."

The dog trotted in obediently, pausing to
sniff Vicky as she passed.

They went upstairs, and Vicky followed
Jonathan into his apartment. She felt silly now, like a child who'd
run off and sulked. Jonathan had probably been waiting for her all
afternoon, wondering where she was.

He fetched a thick green sweater from his
room and made her put it on. She curled her hands inside the long
sleeves and pressed them to her face. The knitted fabric smelled of
him, sort of spicy and clean. She sniffed again, loving the thought
this was his sweater she was wearing.

While he went to the kitchen, she sat on the
rug in his blissfully warm sitting room, put her arms around
Honey's neck, and rested her cheek on the dog's head. As if Honey
knew she was needed, she sat still and played doggy hot water
bottle.

Jonathan brought in a tray with cups of tea
and buttered toasted tea cakes, and set it on an end table. "Where
are you?"

"Sitting on the floor."

He settled on the sofa and patted the cushion
at his side. "Come and sit with me."

She did and he folded his arms around her,
hugging her close, warming her with his body. "Tell me what's
wrong," he said.

Vicky rested her head in the curve of his
neck and breathed in his fragrance of fresh air and spice, her mind
stalling. "I can't." How could she tell him he was pushing Colin
out of her thoughts, and she was frightened of losing her
husband?

Jonathan held her for long minutes, then
loosened his grip and felt for the tray. "Have a warm drink and
something to eat."

She accepted a cup of tea and a buttered tea
cake. As the tea went down and the food settled in her stomach, she
did feel better. The outer warmth of the room sank into her chilled
body, bringing with it a peace and restfulness. There was something
calm and steady about Jonathan that gave her strength.

It was nearly dark outside now, only the
faintest light leaking in the windows. She reached across and
switched on a table lamp.

"I know what'll take your mind off your
troubles, a tour around Rosemoor Hall."

"In the dark?"

"It makes no difference to me," Jonathan said
with a chuckle. "Anyway, it's more fun in the dark. I can tell you
about the ghosts that are supposed to haunt the place."

Jonathan took Vicky's hand and led her along the corridor. Her
slender fingers were warm in his grip, thank goodness. He'd been
worried about her when she finally came in after hours outside,
trembling, with hands like ice.

He smiled and chatted, telling her stories
about his ancestors in the portraits on the walls, trying to
distract her from her worries. Was her sad mood caused by her
unhappy memories of her husband and son, or was something else
bothering her?