Cindy Miles: At First Touch

Don’t trust your eyes. Trust your heart…

After suffering a tragic accident, Reagan Quinn has her military career cut short and her sight gone forever. Returning to her childhood home only reminds Reagan of what she’s lost. No light, no color—just shadows and indistinct forms. But one man refuses to let her give up on herself.

Reagan can’t see Eric Malone. All she knows is that he’s there every day, driving her completely bonkers. Eric pushes her out of the darkness and into a world shaped by taste, touch and scent. But Reagan isn’t quite prepared for what happens when she stops depending on her sight…and starts seeing with her heart.

“Close your eyes and tell me what you see.”

Eric let his fingers gently graze her eyes, one by one, brushing her lashes.

“Big eyes, long, thick lashes.” He moved to her lips, let his thumb softly scrape them, tugging one slightly open, and he lowered his head, brushed his lips over hers and kissed her deeply. “I could kiss these all day,” he muttered against her, then opened his eyes.

Hers were closed, her lips wet from their kiss, and she leaned into him. She breathed a little heavier now.

“Eric,” she said quietly, her fingers tightening around his.

He didn’t give her another second to question things. Or him. Or what he might want or not want. He’d wanted this for a while, but also wanted to give Reagan her space. Not rush things. Jesus, it hadn’t been easy, but he wanted things right with Reagan.

This was right.

Dear Reader,

At First Touch introduces the youngest of the Malone brothers, Eric, and a girl he once knew: Reagan Quinn. Though these childhood friends were separated, a tragic event that has left Reagan blind brings them together. So when Reagan returns to Cassabaw to live with her sister—Matt’s soon-to-be sister-in-law—a very different young woman comes home. Bitter and angry at life’s turn of events, Reagan has no desire but to just be left alone—and somehow figure out a way to never be a burden. Unbeknownst to her, Eric Malone is the very catalyst she needs to realize her full potential.

This second book in The Malone Brothers captures many of the quirky flavors from the first book, Those Cassabaw Days, as well as the beloved characters I hold so close to my heart. From the familiar briny salt marshes and whimsical boardwalk on the beach, to that grain of childhood that remains in us all, discovered, sometimes accidentally, through a certain scent, sound or song.

Cindy

At First Touch

Cindy Miles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CINDY MILES grew up on the salt marshes and back rivers of Savannah, Georgia. Moody, sultry and mossy, with its ancient cobblestones and Georgian and Gothic architecture, the city inspired her to write twelve adult novels, one anthology, three short stories and one young-adult novel. When Cindy is not writing, she loves traveling, photography, baking, classic rock and the vintage, tinny music of The Great Gatsby era. To learn more about her books, visit her at cindy-miles.com.

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For my family.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

Cassabaw Station

Early August

IF ONE MORE person accused Reagan Quinn of having PTSD, she was going to lose it. She knew what it was, knew many others had it, and it was a serious, dangerous condition she wouldn’t wish upon anyone. But she didn’t have it. Not at all.

She was just, simply and bluntly to the point, pissed off. Bottom line.

Mad. As. All. Holy. Hell.

She was blind. Not on the edge of insanity.

The doctors had insisted her other senses would kick in to make up for the loss of sight. It hadn’t happened yet. How could it when your vision was literally knocked from your skull? They’d said it would be like the cells in her body would swarm to all other areas in order to perfect them—to try to make up for the loss of that one particular sense. The doctor had said it would happen, and in an excited sort of way. Like it was cool. Superhero kind of cool. She distinctly remembered telling one doctor in particular to go screw himself. Twice. He’d compared her to Daredevil. The blind lawyer from Hell’s Kitchen. She was nothing like Daredevil. Well, with one exception: she could see shadows, outlines, forms. Nothing definitive. Just like the blind superhero. But she doubted her vision would return to see something special like a rainstorm, where everything was all magical and beautiful and poignant. It sounded a lot cooler in a Marvel movie, instead of real life. Her life.

And now she was coming home. A place she hadn’t returned to since the tragic accident that had taken the lives of her parents. She was basically helpless, depending on others, which she hated. Oh, the government was also helping her with a check for her troubles.

And that was great, having a government check. Even free college. She’d loved the service and defended her country with pride.

But what in the holy of all hell was she going to do with herself now?

“I spy with my little eye something...” Emily Quinn’s pause lasted...and lasted. And lasted. “Brown. I mean tan. Definitely tan! Okay, more like a sort of, oh, I don’t know, a—”

“The marsh.”

“Dang it, Reagan, I swear,” Emily huffed. “I just honestly swear.”

They’d been playing I Spy ever since Emily had picked her up at the airport. A really idiotic game to play with a blind person who could see only heavy shapes, but who was she to judge? Maybe her older sister didn’t know what exactly to do with her. No one did, really. Not anymore. Walk on eggshells? Treat her like an invalid? Pretend nothing’s wrong? Every option was completely and utterly wrong. All she wanted to do was get the hell home and go to bed. Sleep for a week. And pretend this nightmare wasn’t truly happening. Maybe, after a week or two of slob-like slothery, she’d awaken and an epiphany would strike. An idea on how to fix this stupid situation. But for now, it was I Spy. Or not. “No more,” Reagan insisted. “Seriously, Em. I’m kinda beat. It was a long trip.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right.” Reagan jumped when Emily’s warm fingers threaded through hers. It’d take some getting used to—touches occurring before you see them coming. “I missed you so much, Rea. I just... I’m so glad you’re home. Here, you relax and I’ll turn the music up a bit. There’ll be time for girl talk later.” Silence for a moment. “I’ll just be quiet.”