Bound to You (3 page)

An arresting one.

“I’m sure you’re furious at me, but could you manage to at least be polite? This situation is bad enough without you barking at me,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, sounding exasperated by her prickliness. “I just meant that if I hadn’t followed you, I would have been able to direct the rescue team toward your location. I followed you for maybe a mile and a half before I caught up to you. Now no one knows where either of us is. It’ll be like finding a needle in a haystack to locate a three-by-three-foot hole in the entire forest. The stream is going to make it difficult for anyone to hear our shouts. Enzo won’t wander twenty feet from the hole in order to meet any rescue workers.”

“It’s that serious?” she asked slowly. “But I only hiked maybe five miles before I got here. Surely the search area won’t be so wide?”

“You went about seven and a half miles from Rill Pierce’s place.”

Her hand fell in surprise, plunging them into temporary darkness. “How did you know I was staying with Rill and Katie Pierce?”

“Rill Pierce is our resident celebrity,” he replied dryly. “Where else would a movie star be staying around here but a big Hollywood film director’s house?”

“You . . . you know who I am?”

“Yeah,” he said, his cursory manner making her feel like the knowledge was about as relevant as her telling him her favorite color. He again turned his attention to charting out the cave.

“So it’ll take a while for them to find us, but they’ll find us, right?” Jennifer persisted, tailing him closely, afraid of him escaping her sight.

“I don’t know when, but chances are they’ll find us.”

“Chances are?” she asked, her voice echoing shrilly off the limestone walls.

“Did you tell the Pierces where you were going to hike?”

She groaned. He paused and turned toward her again.

“What?”

“I just remembered—Rill, Katie and the baby went to St. Louis for a doctor’s appointment. They won’t be home until late, and I’m staying at the guest cottage on their property. They won’t realize I’m not in there until tomorrow.”

He said nothing, just continued his exploration of the cave walls. She felt judged by his silence.

“I know it was stupid, going into a prohibited area of the forest without telling anyone. I’m so used to hiking, I never thought twice about it. And I had my cell phone.” She groaned in disappointment. “I still don’t have any signal.”

“You might as well save your battery on that,” he said.

“Isn’t the light from it helping you?”

“No. I can’t see, so the light doesn’t matter.”

It took a moment for his meaning to settle.

“Wait, are you saying—”

“I’m blind.”

Jennifer just stared at him for several seconds in openmouthed shock. Her first reaction was dread that her partner in catastrophe was disabled in any way, but then she glanced around the dim cavern. In a matter of hours it would be pitch black in here. Her cell phone battery would only last for so long. John’s “disability” became an asset when she considered they were stuck in a black hole together.

She turned the light on her cell phone off. Fear immediately rose in her, ready to pounce. She switched the light back on.

“I’ll just send a text message to the Pierces. If there’s a window of opportunity for reception, there’s a chance it will go out and they could call the local authorities.”

“A very small chance, but maybe. Might as well try,” John muttered under his breath. “Tell them we’re trapped about a mile and a half southwest of my cabin in the vicinity of the old mines, just off the path in the direction of the stream.”

She typed out a message and sent it, not feeling very hopeful their plea would escape the earth’s underground trap. She mustered her courage and turned off the light on her phone. Despite the beam of sunshine in the distance, she felt as blind as John Corcoran.

No. Blinder.

She heard the crunch of his boots on some debris and moved after him in the darkness. She put her hands out before her. When she clutched his upper arm, he paused. She waited for a protest, but instead he continued his survey. Relief swept through her. He felt too strong, solid and real to let go of.

“Isn’t it a little dangerous for you to live in these woods alone when you’re blind?” she asked delicately.

“It’s a lot safer for me than for most sighted people who enter this forest,” he said. Jennifer blushed, although she suspected he hadn’t meant his comment to sting. It was just the truth. “Actually, I don’t live here full time. I spent my summers with my dad here as a kid. I inherited his cabin when he died. I’m here for a working vacation.”

“Oh,” she said, absorbing the information. “Hey . . . I just thought of something,” she exclaimed, still holding on to his arm and following him.

“Yeah?” he asked, sounding preoccupied.

“Why don’t you try to lift me up to the hole? I might be able to climb out and go get help.”

“We won’t be able to reach the ledge,” he said.

“You’re very tall.”

“We have to both be nearly ten feet tall to make it to the surface,” he replied drolly.

“We could build up the ground beneath us with some of that tunnel debris.”

“Not a bad idea. I considered it. But I don’t want to chance it. That pile is both tight and slippery. There’s a good chance if we start to move it, it could cause another landslide and one or both of us could be buried.”

She sighed in disappointment. There had to be a solution they just weren’t considering.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you searching for a passage out of here?”

“No. There’s no way out of here except for straight up.”

“How do you know for certain?”

“Because if there was, our friend the squirrel would have found it.”

“But the squirrel got
in
here,” she reasoned.

“Yeah,” he said, turning when he’d completely circled the chamber. “And that mine collapsed after him.”

Her heart sank. She trailed him back to the center of the cavern. She realized belatedly that he hadn’t been searching for an exit but was instead detailing the space, using his hands as she would her eyes. He ran his hand along the earthen floor, searching, bypassing his coat when he encountered it. A second later, he picked up something.

“Oh,” Jennifer muttered when she saw a cane in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s a cane. I thought it was a rifle, up there in the woods.”

He frowned.

“It was an honest enough mistake. I was startled when you called out and didn’t have much time to study you. Aren’t blind people supposed to use white canes?”

“I tend to do a lot of things blind people aren’t supposed to do.”

“Obviously.” She studied him with growing interest and respect. He stretched his hand out toward the beam of sunlight, then plunked down on the ground beneath the column of light.

“What do we do now?” Jennifer asked.

“Nothing much
to
do but wait. I’m going to gather some of those loose pieces of wood on the ground over there for a fire in a bit, but you might as well enjoy the sunshine while we have it. It’s going to get chilly awful quick down here when the sun goes down.”

She walked toward him, pausing when she noticed his cane lying next to him. It was a unique cane—longer than most because of his height, made of wood wrapped tightly in black leather. The crook was exposed wood, however, smooth and worn from use. That was odd. Wouldn’t the handle be the obvious place to put the leather in order to cushion his hand?

She swallowed thickly and transferred her gaze to his face, glad to have the opportunity to see him in full light.

It took her a split second to realize she needn’t be sly about checking him out. She stepped closer and charted his face. His eyes were the clear sky blue of a summer day. Like his sensual mouth, they stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his rugged features.

Suddenly he was staring directly at her and she glanced away. Why was she blushing? He couldn’t see. She knelt tenderly in preparation to sit, suppressing a groan when her hip hit the ground.

“Come here,” he said.

“Uh . . . what?” she asked, confused by his request. Had he somehow sensed her staring at him—admiring him?

“Take off your jacket and come here.”

“I don’t
think
so.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to attack you. Your muscles got beat up on that fall. You got it worse than I did. You’re not going to be able to move tomorrow morning if we don’t do something to help you. Take off your jacket.”

She did so reluctantly.

He waggled his finger at her in a beckoning gesture. “The sun will keep the muscles good and warm. Now come here.”

She scooted toward him. He circled his hand in the air. “Your back to me. I do a lot of massage and acupressure in my chiropractic practice. It’ll keep your muscles from seizing up.”

She sat before him. He swung one leg around her so that her hips were just inches from his spread thighs. Ever so gently, he stroked her hair.

Her heart stalled for a moment, but then she realized he was smoothing the strands over to one side so that they wouldn’t get caught in his massaging fingers. Was it her imagination, or did he linger at his task? How did her hair feel against his fingertips? She resisted an urge to touch it herself, strangely curious as to how he experienced her.

He put his hands on her shoulders and began to rub. She moaned, all thought vacating her brain.

“Hurt?” he asked, his deep voice just inches away from her right ear.

She just nodded. His hands paused in their kneading motion, but he continued to touch her. “Does it hurt bad, or hurt good?”

She heard Enzo snuffle and whine above them in the silence that followed.

“It hurts good,” she admitted in a hushed tone.

He continued his massage, loosening stiff, sore muscles. The sunshine beat down on the top of her head, upper back and shoulders. Her pain slowly faded, as did her anxiety. Her flesh grew more supple beneath his deft hands. Her eyelids became heavy as she fell under a spell.

He focused on her neck for several minutes.

“Do you get headaches?” he asked.

Her eyes blinked open. “Yes. A few times a month, pretty bad. How did you know?”

“You carry a lot of tension in your neck and shoulders.”

She moaned softly when he used his thumb to work the kinks out of her spine. He moved lower down her back. He was a magician. She lowered her chin to her chest and drifted. A pleasant, heavy sensation settled in her sex and tingled her clit when he opened his hands and cradled her waist as he continued to rub her spine with his thumbs. She realized his size was making her feel delicate in comparison; feminine . . . aroused.

“These knots aren’t from the fall. How come you’re so tense? Is being an actress that stressful?” he asked gruffly.

“It depends. I put most of the stress on myself. I tend to be a bit of a perfectionist.” She turned her head, resting her chin on her shoulder. “You never told me how you knew I was an actress. Have you seen . . . I mean . . . do you go to movies?” she fumbled.

“Sometimes. Not much. I’ve never gone to one of yours.”

“Then how did you know about my job?”

For a moment, he didn’t reply, just continued to knead at the knots in her lower back using his thumbs. “I listen to music a lot. I have the CD from
Golden Idol
. A friend of mine knew I liked Sierra Gallas, and she bought me the soundtrack from the movie,” he said, referring to the 1950s movie siren who had also been a singer of jazz and blues ballads. Jennifer had played the role of Sierra Gallas several years ago in the film
Golden Idol
. She’d been awarded an Academy Award for her performance.

She twisted her torso to try and see him. He stopped massaging her back but kept his hold on her waist. His unseeing gaze was fixed where his hands were wrapped around her.

“And did you like the recording?”

“I’ve been known to listen to it once or a hundred thousand times,” he said, deadpan.

As if he’d known she smiled, he returned it. Her grin faded.

He was really something to look at when he smiled. The pleasant ache expanded in her pussy.

“I read you did all the songs yourself. No voiceovers,” he said.

“That’s right,” she murmured. She was utterly focused on the feeling of his hands holding her hips and the movement of his mouth. “I had an exceptionally talented voice coach. I practiced for more than a year before doing the movie and recording.”

“You did a phenomenal job.”

Her cheeks heated. He didn’t appear to be the type to compliment people often, and so she appreciated the sentiment all the more because of it. “Thank you.”

“It’s how I recognized you this morning in the forest. You were singing ‘Love in the Moonlight.’”

Her mouth fell open in amazement. “You mean . . . you literally knew it was
me
when you followed, not just a random woman staying with the Pierces who happened to be singing an old Sierra Gallas tune?”

“I knew it was you,” he said simply. His hands shifted lower. He began to make subtle circular motions over the swell of her hips, massaging her, but also . . . stroking her.

She felt a rush of warmth between her thighs.

Chapter Two

He liked the feel of her in his hands. He liked it a lot. She was small and slender, but far from bony. He explored firm, toned flesh, charted a delicate bone structure, and massaged feminine, curved hips.

The skin of her neck had felt like warm, living silk. When he’d touched her thick, soft hair, he’d had a graphic, uncontrollable fantasy pop into his brain of what it would feel like sliding against his cock. He’d grown instantly hard, making the rest of the massage a torture he wouldn’t have missed for the world.

When he found himself rubbing her rounded hips hungrily, however, he grew embarrassed. A woman like her didn’t want a rough man pawing her. She’d think he was scary—or worse, pitiful . . . a blind man copping a feel.