nodded. As she slipped his arm around her shoulder, he recalled Wendi’s description. Melissa was short; he had to lean down to let her help him. Her hand held on to his side, providing him with a surprising amount of support for a small person. The gentle round flesh pressing against his ribs could only be her breast. He grinned. His daughter had neglected to mention that Melissa was curvy. Something inside rumbled as if to remind him he’d been alone for too long.
Soft strands of hair brushed against his bare forearm, swaying back and forth with each step. It was like being tickled with silky feathers. He would have teased her about the sensation or wondered about the tingling in his groin if he hadn’t tripped on an uneven flagstone.
The sense of falling into nothing jerked him back to reality. He felt Melissa throw both of her arms around him, in an effort to steady him. Her petite body pressed next to his. From chest to knee, flesh warmed flesh.
“Who the hell designed this walkway?” she asked.
He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and the indignation in her voice made him smile. Heaven forbid that anything should threaten her patient. He moved his hands over her back, then up to her face. She was warm and soft and ready to go to battle for him. He hadn’t known he liked that in a woman.
Tilting her chin so that she was looking at him, he spoke. “I did.”
“Figures. Concentrate on your footing, Logan. There will be plenty of time for woolgathering when I get you in bed.”
She moved back to his side and they began to walk again.
“Step now.”
He raised his foot and felt the higher level. “The door should be right in front of us.”
“It is. Stay still. I’ll go open it.”
He heard the sound of metal against metal, then the lock turning. Melissa stepped back and placed her arm at his waist. “Let’s try and get through the house without breaking anything.”
By the time they reached his bedroom, Logan was covered with sweat. The pain in his head made every inch of the journey painful, and negotiating the furniture and turns had stretched his nerves tight.
He sat on the bed. “Just let me lie down for a couple of minutes. I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t move a muscle until I get back.” Melissa ran into the bathroom and dampened a couple of cloths. When she returned, he was sitting exactly where she’d left him. “Come on, Logan. Let’s get you out of these clothes and then you can sleep the rest of the day.”
“You seem awfully anxious to get me into bed. Is that all you nurses think about?”
Not until today. Just the thought of undressing his powerful body was enough to send sparks skittering through her, but he was her patient and he was in pain. There’d be time to remember the look and feel of his body when she was at her next assignment.
“No. We also think about ways to torture innocent people. I need you to cooperate.”
He nodded wearily.
Biting her lower lip, Melissa leaned forward and started unfastening his shirt. As she worked the small buttons, she could feel his breath on her face. Each puff of air made her fingers stumble slightly before resuming their task. The fabric parted obligingly and exposed a well-muscled chest covered with rich dark hair. The pattern continued down his flat stomach, only to disappear into the waistband of his jeans.
When she finished with the buttons, he shrugged out of the shirt, then untied his athletic shoes, pulled them off and afterward, the socks.
“Can you stand?” she asked.
“I think so.” He pushed up from the bed. She put out a hand to steady him and he grabbed the support. “Thanks. Maybe I should do the jeans myself.”
She eyed the button fly. “Good idea.”
Don’t stare, she told herself. He mustn’t know you’re at all interested. But then she remembered that Logan couldn’t see her.
Her gaze was drawn to his well-formed hands. Long fingers quickly popped the buttons through the denim. He pushed the jeans past his hips, then sat on the bed. Melissa tried not to look at the tight-fitting white briefs.
“Lie down,” she said softly. She took one of the damp cloths and brushed it across his face and chest. He shivered as the compress cooled his skin and washed away the film of perspiration.
On her tour of the house, she’d left several bottles of pills on the nightstand. She opened one container and shook out two painkillers. After he’d swallowed the medication, she pulled the sheet and blanket up to his shoulders and brushed the hair away from his forehead. The welts on his face could wait for treatment.
“Try to sleep now, Logan. I’ll check in at regular intervals. Wendi said I could take the room next door. Is that all right with you?”
“That’s fine.”
She pulled her hand away, but he caught her wrist. His thumb brushed back and forth against the sensitive inner flesh.
“I could get used to this kind of treatment, Melissa.”
She tried to laugh, but the only sound that came out was a slight croak. She cleared her throat. “That’s what they all say, the first day. I’ll be a holy terror by the end of the week.”
The medicine was beginning to work, and she saw the muscles in his face relax. “Yeah, sure. I’m really scared,” he murmured, then released her hand.
Long after she’d left the room, the inside of her wrist tingled from his touch.
Chapter Two
Three hours later, Melissa crept back into Logan’s room. The past few times she’d checked on him he’d been sleeping soundly, but now it seemed as though he were starting to get restless.
The bedroom was large, with stark white walls and a deep blue carpet. Massive pieces of furniture, from the four-poster bed to the two matching armoires, proclaimed the territory as belonging to a man. A chair rail, in the same rich mahogany as the rest of the furniture, bisected the walls. Opposite the door was a white brick fireplace, flanked by two leather wing chairs. The only incongruous note was the French Impressionist paintings hanging on the walls.
The armoire to the left of the bed contained stereo equipment. She glanced at the CDs scattered on the table and picked up the sound track to The Phantom of the Opera. When the opening bars of music began to softly fill the room, Melissa moved to the bed.
Logan stirred, then rolled onto his back.
“Hi,” she said, stepping closer to him. “How do you feel?”
“You don’t want to know.” He touched his fingers to the bandage around his eyes. His color was no longer gray.
She perched on the edge of the mattress and pulled his hand into her lap. The literature she’d been reading about the newly blind had said that they need a lot of physical contact with the world around them. Feelings of panic and disorientation weren’t uncommon. Even though
