The Ballerina's Stand (15 page)

Wonderful.

The engine roared beneath her feet, and she leaned her head back on the warm leather headrest.

The first thump of the music surprised her, startled her. Soothed her. The sensory deprivation of the past forty-eight hours had been too much, and Jason somehow knew she needed this.

Just as he'd known she'd found comfort in the vibration of his voice last night.

Bless him. She wanted to reach over and hug him. Instead, she let the beautiful beat move through her, let the music fill her. She ached to dance, to let her feet take her across the floor of her studio—

How badly was it damaged? She hadn't asked, and no one had told her. Not that it would have been an easy task. They'd had enough trouble just telling her how they were treating her injuries.

Her eyes burned, not from the anger or fear of her injuries. No, these were tears of grief. She knew it was gone. There was no way the old building had survived a fire that hot, that smoky.

Strong thick fingers touched the back of her hand. She hadn't realized she'd been gripping her own fingers tight. Her knuckles were probably as white as she imagined the bandages covering her eyes were. She forced herself to give in to the comfort of Jason's fingers gently holding hers.

* * *

J
ASON
DROVE
TOWARD
his apartment. He knew Lauren would prefer her own place, and Maxine had pointed that out as well. But the town house's steep stairs and crowded spaces were too risky. Even something as innocuous as a trash can, unexpected at the end of a counter, could be a threat to a person who couldn't see.

The older woman had also pushed for Lauren to come to her house, but the kids' school schedule was plenty to keep Maxine
and
Hudson busy.

Not to mention that “someone” knew where Lauren lived. But Jason wasn't going into that with Lauren right now. He didn't want to scare anyone right now.

Somewhere in the middle of last night, when he'd awakened for the dozenth time, he remembered the text Lauren had sent him the night she'd received the flowers.

Had that asshole who attacked her sent them? He'd let the police know about the texts as soon as he could. Since the phone didn't survive the fire, he hoped the police could get the files from the phone company.

Fighting his frustration and anger, he focused on the road.

When he pulled into his parking spot and killed the engine he saw Lauren momentarily wilt, then go on alert. He didn't let himself think. If he did, he wasn't sure he could keep his distance. The need to fix things, the nagging sense of guilt that he should have been at her studio sooner, and the growing feelings he was experiencing toward Lauren would overwhelm him otherwise. She was a strong, independent woman. It was part of what he loved about her.

Loved? He stared at her. Yes.

The rightness of the answer didn't surprise him as much as he thought it should.

Patiently, she waited for him, and he hated her having to do that. “Come on.” He wasn't sure who he was talking to. He climbed out and went around the car. She sensed the door opening and turned to climb out. She clung to the door's frame, hesitant.

Jason cringed, hating her fear and weakness. It was not who she was. He needed to get her back to normal.

Slowly, he led her to the elevator, fighting his own urge—again—to pick her up and carry her safely away from everything.

He put her hand on the keypad, the familiar round buttons, letting her know they were going into an elevator. She leaned against him as they rose up toward the twelfth floor. When they stepped into the hall, he wondered what she'd think if she could actually see this place.

He'd been overwhelmed and impressed when he'd first seen it, moving here from Texas. The chrome-and-blue color scheme was identical on each floor, each apartment a cookie cutter of the next. Some furnished, some, like his, not.

Again, she stood patiently as he unlocked his apartment door and guided her inside. He flipped the light switch, the can lights in the ceiling coming on to splatter pools of gold across the low-pile carpet. He led Lauren to the couch, guiding her around to the coffee table, having her touch the cool chrome and glass so she'd know it was there.

“Where are we?” she signed, facing him. Trusting him.

He paused, then took her hand and made the signs for “My place.” He waited for her reaction. He was pleased when her lips turned up in a faint smile.

“Not fair,” she signed. “I can't see your secrets.”

He laughed, and too late, realized she still had her hand against his chest and could feel the vibration. He froze. She froze. As if she could actually see, she tilted her face toward him, questioning, inviting?

Disgusted with himself for even considering taking advantage of the situation, and fighting the ache to pull her into his arms and kiss away his own fears, he stepped back.

* * *

L
AUREN
WAS
TIRED
. So tired. But falling asleep scared her more than staying awake. Would the darkness still be there, as painful and oppressive when she awoke?

Jason had been wonderful. Last night at the hospital, he'd held her all night. That couldn't have been comfortable. But even if he'd complained, she couldn't have heard him, or even seen him sign. She'd missed so much.

She had to keep from crying. Tears burned. The ointment they'd given her helped a bit. Soon she'd have to apply more. Just before she went to bed.

She couldn't do it alone. The nurse had done it this morning. For a brief instant, she'd seen the blurred, shadowed image of the woman's kind face.

Tonight she'd need Jason's help. She dreaded that, too—dread mixed with anticipation.

What a mess.

The rhythm of approaching footsteps vibrated across the floor. He was near. She smelled the faded scent of his cologne. So comforting.

Jason touched her gently on her shoulder. Even with the warning, she jumped. “Sorry,” she signed, knowing he'd want her not to feel sorry, but unable to help herself.

The side of the bed dipped as he settled beside her. Slowly, he took her hand, putting the tube of ointment in her palm, letting her feel the plastic's coolness. Then he softly tapped her forehead beside the tape. He was letting her know he was ready, letting her know he'd wait for her. Slowly, with her uninjured hand, she reached up and gently pulled at the medical tape, loosening the bandages.

Light stabbed her eyes, burning, painful. The damaged skin around her eyes tingled with the brush of the room's air. She blinked quickly, tears falling as her body tried to cleanse itself.

Jason had turned off the lights, all except one, clear across the room, but even that was too bright. Still, relief washed over her. Even in the dim light, she could make out his shadowed figure, could see the glow.

She needed to be patient, believing she'd be fine—in time.

Jason reached for the tube and nudged her chin back. She knew the drill, knew he had to help put it in between her lids. It was thick and gooey, and while it eased the pain, it was like looking through Vaseline.

As he lifted his hand to put the first bit on, she reached up and stopped him. She wanted to look at him, just for an instant. She took a moment to catalog his shadowed features. Her heart caught. He was so close, and, though out of focus, she let her hungry gaze drink in everything it could. She tried to put the blurry images together with what she knew. Her mind filled in the pieces, and she let herself savor the relief. She could see him clearly, at least in her mind.

Hesitantly, she reached up, laying her palm against the rough skin of his jaw. Slowly, she slid her fingertips toward his lips, and felt the softer skin move. Was he saying something? Then he paused, taking his hand and covering hers, pressing a gentle kiss to the center of her palm.

She lifted her blurred gaze to look at him, wanting to never stop looking at him...praying she'd be able to see him soon, clearly, in full light.

“Okay,” she signed and tilted her head back. He nodded and moved closer, carefully, taking the tube and tilting it toward her eyes. Then once he'd recapped it and set it down, he took more gauze and tape to make her another mask.

Dread rocked her. The darkness threatened to overwhelm her. This time, he paused. The bandages in his hand, he reached out and cupped her chin, much as she had his. He didn't stop, however, but instead, leaned closer, closer still, and put his lips to hers. Gently, softly at first, and then with an insistency that thrilled and scared her. She returned his kiss, letting her eyes close naturally as she curled her fingers in the soft fabric of his shirt.

Lauren felt the vibration of him clearing his throat as he moved away. She didn't open her eyes, wanting to keep the kiss safe inside.

Oh, so gently, Jason put the gauze over her eyes and put the tape in place. The darkness wasn't quite so frightening this time. Maybe because she knew there was light on the other side of the bandages, light that she would be able to see at some point.

Or maybe it was because Jason slipped onto the bed beside her, fully clothed, and pulled her up against his chest, just as he had last night. She snuggled against him, not needing him as much as she had last night, but still not wanting to be alone.

She let sleep scoot in closer. Then she felt Jason relax and the soft vibration of his snore reassured her. If he was tired enough to sleep like this, he deserved it, and if he was comfortable enough, Lauren could, too.

 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

S
UNLIGHT
POURED
IN
the windows. Jason had been so tired, and focused on getting Lauren settled last night, he'd forgotten to pull the drapes.

He looked down at her. She was curled up in the center of his bed, the blankets tucked beneath her chin, the bandages still firmly in place. Thank heavens. If she opened her eyes without them, the pain would be awful.

The skin on her forehead had been irritated by the chemicals, but this morning it looked much less angry and red. Hopefully, her eyes were improving as well. He'd take a good look when they put in the next dose of medicine.

It was still early, barely past sunrise, and while Lauren needed to sleep, Jason couldn't stay here with her. Not without his body betraying the feelings growing between them. He stood and closed the curtains.

Shadows fell over the room with the only remaining light coming from the reflection of the sunlight off the hall floor.

Leaving the bedroom, Jason made coffee and took a steaming cup out to the balcony. The twelfth floor wasn't up so high that he had an unimpeded view of the city. But between the buildings, he could see the distant hills and the city scattered beyond. The morning light slanted through and glinted off the rows of window glass.

He made a call to the office. His cell phone had perished in the fire, so he'd asked Susan to get him a new one. Thank God, it was company-issued—all he'd had to do was call IT, not deal with a phone company. He let Susan know he wouldn't be in today—he wasn't going anywhere, at least not anywhere that didn't involve Lauren. The idea of leaving her here, alone, made him shudder.

After he'd hung up, he finished his coffee and hustled to the shower. He needed to get ready for the day before Lauren woke up and needed his help.

Minutes later, Jason stepped out of the shower and froze. Lauren stood in the doorway. Slowly, hesitantly, she ran her hands along the door frame. When he'd first brought her into his room last night, he'd walked her around the floor plan. Odds were, she wouldn't remember much, but there were some essentials she'd needed to know about, a bathroom being one of them.

Lauren couldn't see him, but he hastily wrapped the towel around his hips anyway. She moved slowly, tentatively, as if trying to remember where everything was. The frown on her brow decided him. He reached out to her, his hand barely touching her elbow. Still, she jumped and hit her shoulder on the frame. Her gasp was soft, but definitely pain filled.

To keep Lauren from stumbling, Jason pulled her back to keep her steady. Lauren froze as her bare shoulder grazed his naked chest. Her sharp intake of breath was loud, vibrating clear through him.

Slowly, Jason put his hands on her shoulders—noting how her cheeks burned bright pink. He smiled. She'd apparently guessed his state of dress—or rather, undress—correctly. Carefully, he turned her in the right direction, and guided her to find what she was looking for. She nodded and closed the small privacy door.

Jason chuckled. She looked cute when she blushed. He had just enough time to grab clothes from the closet and cover the important parts. He was pulling his shirt on when she opened the door.

She'd never find her way back without help. She'd be covered in bruises if she hit any more walls. He hustled, barefoot, his shirt hanging open, and met her in the doorway. He touched her arm, and she let him guide her to the sink. By feel, she found the faucet and soap. He waited patiently, watching her, enjoying the view.

Even hindered with the cast, and unable to see, her movements were smooth and graceful. It was a bit disconcerting to watch her this way. He could look his fill, and he did. She had to know he was watching her. So why did he feel like a voyeur?

Even sleep-mussed, without all the trappings of makeup and done-up hair, she was beautiful. Her hair hung to her hips in thick copper waves that had his fingers itching to touch. He didn't dare. He might never let her go.

The simple nightgown scooped low on her chest, clinging to curves he'd barely had the chance to explore. The other night in her office seemed like years ago.

Like most women, Lauren probably wouldn't believe him if he told her how pretty she looked. It didn't matter, though, since he couldn't tell her much of anything right now.

Not with words, anyway.

He intended to guide her back to the bed, but somehow, his fingers made a side trip to slip a stray curl behind her ear. The skin of her cheek was soft as down. Jason let his fingers linger.

Lauren leaned into his touch.

“
J
-
a
-
s
-
o
-
n
,” she signed, then she swallowed hard. “I—” She tapped her chest, and then stopped. She tilted her head up, as if she could see him. Slowly, she reached out and touched her fingertips to his chest. Her fingers were small and cool against his bare skin. At first she froze, then slowly, painfully slowly, she slid her fingers upward, over his shoulder, along his neck to his still-rough jaw. She lingered there, her palm grazing his chin as her thumb slid enticingly over his lips.

Jason doubted she realized her tiny pink tongue came out just then to run a damp trail over her own lips. Anticipation?

His heartbeat quickened, and while her hand was no longer against his chest, she had to feel the vibration that shook his entire body. After a couple of deep breaths to try and still it, he took her arm to lead her out of the intimacy of the bathroom.

But she didn't move. And he didn't guide her away. Instead, he pulled her against him, her warmth so sweet and soft. She was small, and while he leaned down, she still wasn't close enough. He bent and slipped his arm beneath her knees and lifted her up against his chest. He'd carry her back to his bed, rather than let her stumble around.

The cast rested solidly against his shoulder, but her other arm curled snugly around his neck, and she slid her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Jason should take a step, or two. He really should. But her lips were so close.

Lauren tilted her head and laid it against his shoulder. He called himself every kind of jerk for thinking about carrying her to his bed to do more than lay her safely down on the rumpled sheets—

Until her lips moved. Hot and soft against his neck, up along his jaw. Her tongue came out to taste him, tease him, torment him.

All he had to do was tilt his head just...so...

She tasted of early morning and sunshine—her lips soft and warm and welcoming. At first, he felt her thank you—but this was not simply a thank-you kiss. This was something more, something he craved and ached for.

Standing there, with her plastered across his chest, all the want he'd held back leapt to the surface. He was a man lost. Lost to Lauren's touch and his own desire.

* * *

L
AUREN
FELT
THE
groan in Jason's throat and his fast, hot breath brush over her skin. Though she couldn't see him, she had the taste, feel and scent of him. She'd never felt more a part of another person.

Her fingers moved, spelling absently against his neck, “
L
-
o
-
v
-
e
m
-
e
.” But even that thought process vanished as he kissed her. Long and deep.

Then suddenly, they were moving. Cool air wafted against her bare legs, and her toes brushed the edge of the door frame. The beat of his footsteps felt steady and strong. The bed's smooth sheets were cool against her back as he laid her down.

His bed.

She'd slept with Jason two nights in a row now. And he hadn't been inappropriate. Hadn't touched her. Hadn't—anything.

Had she misread the signals?

No. He wanted her. His heart beating furiously against her hand was proof.

Lauren slid her hand down, and felt the edge of his open shirt brush across her fingertips. She curled her fingers around the fabric.

She couldn't hold on to him and sign. Slowly, she pulled him closer, finding those sweet, firm lips again. Then she let her hand move, and in the center of his chest, where his heart pounded, she signed. “Love me. Stay with me. Want you.”

Did he understand her? Would he—

The bed moved as he moved. What was he doing? Leaving?
No, please.

Two big strong hands curled around her shoulders and gently pushed her back against the pillows. Disappointment lived for only an instant as those hands moved gently upward, caressing her neck, cupping her chin until his lips returned to hers.

Lauren melted into him, encircling his neck with her arm and guiding him back down to her. His body, hot and hard, settled over hers, pressing her down into the mattress, cocooning her in the scent of him.

She opened her lips for him, the feel of his tongue against hers insistent. As she slid her bare legs along his, the deep vibration of his groan shook her.

Her hand moved along the muscles of his back, exploring, touching, yet impatient. She tugged at the waistband of his jeans, hoping he understood.

His mouth left hers, traveling slowly down where his hands had been. She wore a simple nightgown and until this instant, she'd completely forgotten what she had on. With such a gentle touch, his fingertips grazed her collarbone, then slid over the exposed skin above her neckline, to dip inside and slowly, oh-so-slowly, slide into the valley between her breasts.

She hadn't worn a bra since they'd taken her smoke-permeated clothing at the hospital. She hadn't given it much thought, having slept most of the time since. Now she was glad for the lack of clothing.

His finger moved lazily to the right, then the left, teasing her, each time moving a little bit closer to the peak. Her skin tightened to the point of being nearly painful.

Then suddenly, it wasn't his finger teasing her, but the damp of his tongue. He slid the strap of her gown off her shoulder, and she nearly leapt off the bed as his lips closed over her nipple, tasting, teasing, pushing her to the edge.

She burrowed her fingers into his still-damp hair, holding him tight, silently begging him to never stop.

He moved away, slipping from her grasp. She wanted to protest, and then the fabric of her nightgown whispered lower, slipping off, the silky fabric a caress in itself.

She knew it was morning since he'd showered. Was there much light in the room? She remembered a set of windows along the wall. Could he see her?

The idea of him watching her made her self-conscious as much as it sent a thrill through her. He was close, she felt his body heat. Was he looking...? Watching?

His hand settled on her hip, hot, scalding, then slid up over the curve of her waist, to tickle her ribs, then finally cup her breast. She arched into his palm, her breath quickly in and out, adding to the friction of his touch.

And then he was gone again. She reached out to find him, intent on pulling him back. His touch returned, as he put his hand in hers. Slowly, he spelled, making her stop and focus on the shapes his fingers made.

“
Y
-
o
-
u
s
-
u
-
r
-
e
?”

She nodded, reaching out to follow the shape of his shoulders to the collar of his shirt. She pushed his shirt off, the fabric wilting lifelessly without his shape to fill it. She tossed it to the floor.

His laughter shook the bed. In response, he took her hand again, guiding her fingers to the waistband of his jeans.

Her entire body tingled. Carefully, she pushed the metal button through the thick denim, the zipper grinding against her fingers. The back of her fingers brushed hot, hard skin. And she melted.

Tugging his loosened jeans, Lauren hoped he understood she wanted him to help. One-handed, she couldn't take them off—and she needed them off. Now. She signed, “Off.”

Cool air brushed her skin when he moved away. What if he changed his mind? She couldn't reach for him if she couldn't find him. Where was...?

The bed shifted as Jason stretched out beside her. Heat rolled off him. Sweet heat. Unable to resist, she reached out, her hand finding him. She'd just leaned over when his arms slid around her. Running his hand first up, then down her back, he pressed her against him, molding each inch tightly to him.

And then he kissed her. Hard. His lips drank in everything she gave, and she gave it all.

She'd had lovers before, but none had made her feel so overwhelmed—and yet Lauren didn't feel lost. She felt cherished. This was where she belonged.

His touch was gentle, yet urgent. She needed more. This time when he pulled away, she greedily curled her fingers around his bicep.

He turned away, keeping one leg next to hers as if he understood her confusion. She felt movement, but couldn't tell what he was doing. And then he took her hand in his, placing a square packet in her palm.

* * *

T
HOUGH
THE
ROOM
was nearly dark, some light slipped in from the hall and around the curtain's edge. Jason could barely make out Lauren's face, but he saw the comprehension dawn on it. He cursed the bandages that hid her beautiful eyes, but the way she gathered her bottom lip between her teeth told him she knew. The way she tore the packet open told him she wanted this.

Jason reached to take the condom from her, only to be met with a hearty shake of her head and the determined touch of her hands on him. He nearly roared aloud with the pleasure of her covering him, slowly, gently, protecting herself at the same time she nearly pushed him to his release.

There was no more waiting. He had to be in her. Had to feel her around him.

Pushing her back again, he rose above her, wishing he could see her more clearly. Aching for her to see him. He hesitated, wanting to be with her completely. His heartbeat shook them both, and her breath whispered over him. He held back as long as he could, waiting, wishing.