Cindy Miles - At First Touch

Soon, the truck bumped and jerked to a halt, and the engine went silent. “We’re here,” Eric announced. In the next second her door was being opened. A slight breeze brushed her skin, sultry, salty. Eric’s hand closed around her elbow, and she stepped out of the truck.

“Okay, okay, one thing, Malone,” Reagan said. Eric was close—she could see his dark form a few inches away. Taller than her for certain. And broad. She could smell his soapy skin. Feel his body heat. “Don’t treat me like a blind person. Okay? It’s embarrassing.”

“Define ‘like a blind person,’” he answered. His voice washed over her, quiet now and raspy. “Just so I’ll be clear on the matter.”

Reagan sighed. “Like, let me do things,” she said. “Yes, if I’m about to step out into a line of traffic, pull me back. But I don’t want people staring at me like I’m helpless. I’m not.”

He was quiet for a moment, and Reagan nearly squirmed under what she assumed was his scrutiny. “Did you know you have the most adorable nose I’ve ever seen?” he said softly. “In my life.”

Reagan felt her cheeks burn. “You’re trying to distract me from my point.”

He tugged her elbow, and she shifted away from the truck door. He closed it, and the vibration of metal shimmied next to her. “Don’t worry, Reagan Rose,” he said close. “I know you’re more than capable. No treating you like a blind person. Copy that. Now stop stalling and let’s hit the aisles. I’m starved.”

Why Eric’s close proximity and blunt words affected her so much, she hadn’t a clue. Whether he was ticking her off or making her cheeks turn hot, he affected her.

She could only pray he didn’t notice.

CHAPTER FIVE

“UM, MA’AM? EXCUSE ME,” a woman’s voice said, close to Reagan. She had a nasal voice and heavy Southern-belle accent, and pungent perfume wafted off her in a heavy cloud that nearly took Eric’s breath away. He watched her lean closer to Reagan, a smile caked with lipstick spreading across her face.

Reagan turned her head slightly. “Sorry, yes?”

“Your blouse is on inside out, honey,” the woman said. “And you have on one white sneaker and one blue one.” She gave a squeaky laugh. “Didn’t know if you knew it or were starting a new trend!”

“New trend,” Reagan muttered. “Thanks anyway.”

“No prob!” The woman turned and grinned at Eric, her eyes moving over him in blatant flirtation. Early thirties maybe, and sporting a large rock on her wedding finger; he simply nodded. She waved and sauntered off to the next aisle.

Reagan simply stood there, looking mad. With her head tilted back, just a little, her chin jutting upward, she sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

Eric wiped his smile with his hand. “Incredibly.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she spat.

Eric couldn’t help but laugh, but he covered it up by clearing his throat. “Reagan, I swear I tried.”

Reagan shook her head. “You weren’t very convincing! Can we just hurry, please?” Her voice was an aggravated whisper.

Eric leaned close to her ear and noticed how nice she smelled. Fresh, like some kind of wildflower. “You are insanely cute. No one cares, Reagan. Relax.”

“That woman noticed,” she answered.

Eric glanced around, but the woman was long gone. “That’s because she’s one of those busybodies. Into everyone’s biz. So don’t worry about it.”

Reagan lifted her head high, then slid her shades off her face and tucked them into her bag. “I feel totally stupid.”

Reaching for a shopping cart, Eric pushed it beside her and placed her hand on the bar. He closed her fingers over it. “You only feel as stupid as you allow people to make you feel, darlin’. Now, come on. Push.”

She began to walk, slowly. “You want me to push?”

“Sure, why not? Let’s hit the produce first.” He leaned toward her again. “I’m right next to you, so don’t worry. I won’t let you take out a pyramid display of canned yams or anything.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Eric studied her as he pulled Jep’s grocery list from his back pocket. “My pleasure.” She had on white shorts that showed toned, tan legs, a worn white Converse and a worn navy Converse—which totally cracked him up. Her navy tank was indeed inside out, with the little silky tag on the side seam hanging loose. Her arms were firm with perfectly shaped female biceps—not too big, but definitely defined. Her tanned skin was nearly flawless, save the occasional rogue freckle here and there, as well as the few that trekked across her nose. A finely structured face with a pair of incredibly juicy lips—

“Why aren’t we moving?”

Eric blinked, pulling himself from his engrossed inspection. “Sorry,” he admitted. “I got all caught up in checking you out.”

He watched her cheeks turn pink, despite the fact that her brows pulled together into a frown. “Are you always so arrogantly forward with strangers?”

Eric grinned and glanced around, noticing an older woman with snowy white hair piled high on her head, sorting through the bananas. The woman’s half smile and brow wiggle almost made him burst out laughing. He shrugged and waved, then bent his head close to Reagan’s.

“We used to swim shirtless together in the river,” he said softly, next to her ear. “In nothing but a pair of cutoff jeans. We’re far, far from strangers, Reagan Rose.” He lowered his voice even more. “We were practically naked together—”

Her elbow landed squarely in his ribs. “Ow,” he grunted.

“Will you cut it out?” she spat. “You’re ridiculous. That was a hundred years ago, and most of it I don’t even remember.”

Eric passed another glance at the old woman by the bananas, who steadily watched the exchange between him and Reagan. Her grin was wider now, and he only returned the smile and shrugged, holding his hands up in defeat. The old woman shook her head, amused, and ambled to the bin of oranges.

“Okay, okay, I give,” Eric said. He stepped back a bit before Reagan punched him in the face. “Tell me what you want and I’ll guide us there.”

She gave a frustrated sigh. “Oranges. Grapes. Bananas. Onions. Avocados. Romaine. Tomatoes. Green pepper. Mushrooms. Garlic.”

Eric watched her eyes as she spoke, noticing the brilliant blue with flecks of green and the dark blond lashes that fanned out like caterpillars against her upper cheekbones. Finely arched brows had eased from their perpetual frown, adjusting into the sexiest expression he’d ever seen. In. His. Life. He shook his head. “Your wish is my command,” he said, guiding them toward her choices. “I love the way the produce section smells,” he said, drawing in a large breath. “Don’t you?”

“I guess,” she said, feeling the avocados with her slight fingers.

“Well, take a whiff,” he challenged. “Like, a big one. And really notice the different scents.” When she ignored him, he pressed. “Reagan, do it.”

She went rigid, back stiff, and wouldn’t budge. Didn’t inhale.

He felt determination creep up his throat, and Eric reached for a big fat orange and held it under her nose. Pushed it against her nose. “Seriously, Rea. Sniff it.”

She gave a slight inhale then grabbed the orange from him. “Great. It smells like an orange, Eric. Can we go please?”

He could hear it in her voice—the loss of patience, the frustration at his urging. Part of it made him want to press, force her to realize that losing her sight wasn’t the end of the world. The other wondered how far he could push without getting his eyes blacked out.

In the end, he conceded. “Okay, Miss Attitude. How many do you want?”

“Three. If you just give me the bag I can pick them out.”