Touched by Love (Love in Bloom: The Remingtons) Page 5

  He took her hand in his and leaned in closer, bringing a heat wave that made her head spin.

  “Honey, you’re doing that thing you do, when you make me remember how much better than okay things can be.”

  Chapter Four

  AS BOYD CLOSED Janie’s apartment door behind them, she felt her tension fall away. She always breathed a little easier at home, and tonight that relief was magnified. It had been a long night, but she was glad Boyd had taken her to the café. For a while he’d taken her mind off of how scary the night had been. She imagined him now, taking in her narrow kitchen and cozy living room. She didn’t have much space, but she was able to fit her grandfather’s antique writing desk beside the window, which was her favorite piece of furniture.

  “You didn’t tell me you had a dog,” he said.

  It took Janie a minute to realize he meant Romeo, the knee-high cardboard dog she’d gotten when she’d moved in. He sat beside her writing desk, and just knowing he was there made her happy.

  “I’ve always wanted a guide dog, but it seems like it would be too hard in the city, so I got Romeo.”

  “Romeo. Why does that name not surprise me?” He inhaled deeply. “It smells incredible in here.”

  Nearly every surface had a vase of fresh flowers or leafy plants.

  “I’m a flower hoarder. A few times each week I walk down to the corner florist and buy fresh flowers. I love the smell of them, and just being near them makes me happy.”

  He knelt beside her. “Janie, I don’t think there’s room for your wheelchair to maneuver around the furniture, into the bathroom, the bedrooms…”

  “Oh.” She wrinkled her brow. “I hadn’t thought of that. How will I shower? I feel so dirty.”

  She gripped her bag tightly again. Boyd uncurled her tense fingers and gently stroked the back of them with his thumb.

  “Honey, you can’t put any pressure on your ankle. We need to ice and elevate it. Once the swelling is down, in a day or two, you’ll be able to use a crutch. Until then, I’m afraid you can’t put any weight on that foot. What I’d like to do is get you settled. I can fill a bath for you, then wait outside the bathroom door in case you need me.”

  “I didn’t think…” Could she trust him if she were naked behind the door? Did she have a choice? It had been so long since she’d relied on anyone in such a major way that she didn’t know if she was angry, frustrated, or sad about having to do so now.

  “This is going to be a major change for you, and I can’t even begin to imagine what it must feel like. But I’m here, and you can use me however you need me.”

  “Oh, I can tell you exactly what it feels like—a bad joke. Like when I was younger and could still see and I knew that eventually that ability would be diminished. I had no control over it, and I scrambled to memorize everything I possibly could so I would have some idea of what the world looked like and so I wouldn’t have to rely on someone else for every little thing.”

  Anger tightened like a vise in her stomach, and she couldn’t stop the frustration from bubbling out. “I got over that, so please don’t think I’m bitter over my blindness, because I’m not. In some ways I’m glad I don’t have to see some random guy’s face on the subway as he treats his wife badly, or the look of pity or warped fear in people’s eyes when I walk by with my cane. That would suck even more.” Tears burned down her cheeks. “And now I’m getting to know you, and you’re so nice, and you don’t treat me different from other people. And you’re offering to be my caretaker? As nice as that is, no one likes to need a nursemaid.”

  Boyd’s arms gathered her against him, surprising her. Shouldn’t he be running from her apartment? Telling her to get a grip or something? She couldn’t stand to hear the frustration streaming from her lungs. How could he?

  With one hand on the back of her head, the other holding her around her shoulders, and his scruffy cheek pricking her face, he said. “According to Kelly, I’d make a pretty hot nursemaid.”

  She laughed despite her frustration.

  “But I prefer the term houseboy to nursemaid, because you’re not sick. You’re just someone who needs a lift every now and again. Besides, when your hip feels better and your aches and pains heal up, you can scoot around on your knees and you won’t need me at all. For now, I have a few days off, and all I had planned to do was read during that time, so I’m pretty much at your disposal.”

  He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and the tenderness of his touch and the sincerity of his words made her cry even harder, because if by any stretch of God’s good imagination he really did like her for her, how could he ever see her as strong and independent if she relied on him to carry her around?

  **

  BOYD’S HEART FELT like it was being torn to pieces. How he’d come to care so much for Janie in a few short hours was beyond him. But for the first time since he’d lost his parents and had his world turned upside down, he wasn’t walking through life with blinders on. He wasn’t solely focused on his career and making it to medical school. He wanted to slow down and get to know Janie. Everything about her. Figuring out how she’d get around the next few days barely scratched the surface.

  He drew back from her just far enough to wipe her tears. “Even when you’re sad, you’re incredibly beautiful.”

  She smiled through her sadness. “Sweet talker.”

  “I’m being honest.” He framed her face with his hands. “And it’s not just your looks, Janie. I’m in awe of your strength and tenacity. I’ve had to rely on others, too, and I know how much it sucks.”

  “It’s not the same. What could possibly be the same as this?”

  He rubbed an ache in the back of his neck. He wanted to ease her pain of feeling like she’d somehow become weak, because he knew all about feeling weak. There was only one way to gain her trust and help her understand that it was okay to need a little help. To need his help.

  He struggled with the idea of revealing such a private part of himself, but one look at the sadness in Janie’s eyes and he was powerless to do anything but ease her pain.

  “I want to show you something. It’s not something I’ve shown many people, but I want to share it with you.”

  “Are you going to get kinky?” she asked with a sniffle. “Because now isn’t the best time.”

  “You are a sassy girl, and I sure do like that, but no kink here, sorry.” His hands left her face, and he instantly missed the contact.

  “But you said the heroine in my romance had to like kinky sex.” Confusion riddled her brow.

  “She does.” He wasn’t about to go down that path with her, unless he wanted to contend with a hard-on. It was difficult enough trying to ignore how incredible she felt in his arms every time he carried her. All her soft curves against him, warm and…

  He pushed those thoughts away and said, “I’m going to carry you to the couch—is that okay?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before scooping her into his arms.

  “I have to admit,” she said with a playful tone, “I don’t hate it when you carry me, even though I probably should.”

  “Why should you hate it when I carry you?” He settled her on the couch and elevated her ankle with a pillow.

  “Because, I don’t know. It’s not like we’re dating, and I’ve been in your arms all night.”

  “You don’t see me complaining. I’m going to get a bag of ice for your ankle, and then I’ll show you what I wanted to share with you, okay?”

  He quickly gathered the ice and turned to ask her where to find a plastic bag. She must have sensed his question, because she said, “Bags are in the drawer to the right of the fridge.”

  “Thanks.” Boyd’s stomach churned nervously as he filled the bag. He glanced over the microwave, noticing clear plastic stick-on buttons on top of each of the numbers on the control panel. The oven had the same type of stick-ons on the dial, marking off, medium heat, and high. He’d never thought about how people who were blind used flat-faced appliances. Clever.
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  “Do you have a clean dish towel we can use?”

  “The drawer beneath where you found the bags,” she said, plumping the cushions behind her and settling in. “Thank you again for taking care of me.”

  He took off her brace, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Oh, honey, I hate that this happened to you.” He checked the time on his phone and laid it on the coffee table. “Are you okay? You can’t take more pain meds for a while.”

  “Sure.” She clutched a pillow to her chest as he laid the towel over her ankle.

  “This will be cold, but not too bad with the towel. Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

  She nodded as he gently situated the ice over her ankle.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “May I sit beside you?” When she nodded, he sat beside her. “Where else do you hurt?”

  “My right shoulder and hip are achy.”

  He leaned over and kissed her shoulder. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” A smile lifted her lips. “Do you want to try to ice it?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that bad.”

  “A bath will help.” He was procrastinating, terrified of the emotions revealing his most private thing would unearth inside him. But his fears didn’t matter after everything Janie had been through. All that mattered was letting her know that he really did understand the way she felt.

  “Are you okay? You’re breathing fast.” She reached for his hand. “And your hand is hot.”

  “I could say it’s because of who’s holding it, but that’s only a partial truth. I’m a little nervous.”

  “Why? You’ve been so confident this whole time, except when I was touching you. You got a little revved up then, but I assumed, you know, it was because I was touching you.” She lowered her gaze, and he lifted her chin so he could see her face.

  “It was because you were touching me. And right now it’s that, too, but it’s also because…” This was so much harder than he’d thought it would be. “I need to take my shirt off, but don’t worry, it’s not for anything sexual.”

  “You don’t need to warn me. Just rip that shirt off already.”

  She had no idea how much he wished he could warn her about what was coming, but he wasn’t sure he could find the words to explain. He reached over his shoulder, pulled his shirt off, and set it on the coffee table. She was right; he was breathing really hard. Holy shit. Why was this so difficult? Women had seen him naked before.

  But I’ve never explained.

  “Boyd?” she asked, reaching her hand out, searching for his.

  “I’m here.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to show me whatever it is if this is hard for you.”

  He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb just below her lip. He’d never wanted to open himself up to anyone as much as he did with Janie.

  “Thank you. But I want to.”

  He took her hand in his and turned away, placing her hand on the back of his shoulder. Closing his eyes, he pressed his hands firmly to his thighs.

  Her fingers trailed over the patches of uneven skin across his upper back. Boyd remained silent in hopes of staving off the painful memories of how he’d earned the scars that had changed his life. He expected Janie to recoil, like most women did. But her touch was featherlight, almost sensual, and she traced every single scar, from his shoulders, over his shoulder blades, to the few inches of unmarred skin. Her fingers lingered there, moving over and back between the grafted skin and the unmarred area. She placed her hands flat across the divide, as if she might soak in the feel of him.

  Boyd held his breath. The memory of his father’s strong arm pressing tightly against his back as he carried him out of the burning house under one arm, his younger brother, Chet, under the other, crushed his chest anew. The smell of burnt skin and hair, the explosion—the fucking explosion—and his brother’s and sister’s shrieks, came rushing back, fracturing his thoughts. He drew in a few jagged breaths, but it was impossible to calm his anxiety.

  He waited for the questions to come, but Janie remained silent and began tracing the map of the worst night of his life with careful precision. She followed that history around the sides of his body and found the lines that divided his hurtful past from the branded areas of his donor skin sites. He focused on her touch, and when her hands returned to his back, moving over the angled line of unmarred skin to the ridges and grooves below, his head dropped between his shoulders. Emotions warred inside him—love for those he’d lost, gratitude for his father’s strength to save him and his siblings, and the overwhelming despair that morphed into nightmares and threatened to slay him. Then Janie’s cheek was resting, warm and comforting, against his back, causing unexpected and powerful emotions to bloom inside his chest.

  She flattened both hands on his lower back, just above the waist of his jeans, and she moved her fingers along his flanks, up his back again to his shoulders. A second later he felt her lips touch his back. He blinked against the sting of tears and tried to swallow past the emotions lodged in his throat.

  Janie wrapped her arms around him from behind and held him. He crossed his arms over hers, soaking in her comfort. He felt wetness on the path of skin where his father’s arm had protected him and knew she was crying, and that drew his tears, which had vied for release.

  He turned and framed her face with his hands, feeling her tears beneath his thumbs. She was so sweet, so beautiful, so trusting. He wanted to press his lips to hers, to feel all the emotions coursing through them in a deeper way, but he resisted the urge, wanting so much more than one kiss would ever provide.

  “I’m sorry I doubted you,” she said.

  “You couldn’t have known.” His voice was rough with emotion, gravelly and pained.

  She placed one hand over his on her cheek and then placed the other on his cheek. “I like when you touch me like this. Does it feel good to you?”

  She was so caring, so careful, and he was learning that verbalizing and clarity were important to her. She couldn’t see a smile reach his eyes, or the quirk of a brow, or the way he felt his insides go soft when she touched him, which he knew had to resonate on his face—because there was no way something so potent could go unnoticed.

  “Yes,” he finally managed. “I like the way it feels when you touch me very much.”

  Still holding his cheek, she turned serious. He could smell the faint scent of hot chocolate on her breath, feel a kiss on her lips, waiting for him, welcoming him. Usually, a woman’s eyes told Boyd if she wanted to kiss him; with Janie, it was written in the softness of her smile, the slight knitting of her brows, in her tongue as it slid slowly across her lower lip. Boyd knew that once they kissed, once he had a taste of her, it would open a door he couldn’t easily close. He already felt too close to her to walk away. Not that he wanted to. No, for the first time in his life, he wanted to stay exactly where he was.

  “Are those burn scars?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He swallowed hard. “Mostly skin grafts.”

  Her eyes filled with sadness again, bringing a lump to his throat.

  “That must have been so painful,” she said softly. “You must have been terrified. I can’t imagine...”

  Her hands moved up his face and he closed his eyes, not wanting her to feel his tears. It was a futile effort. Her delicate fingers found them quickly, and then her lips followed. Soft pillows of tenderness touched the skin just beneath each of his eyes. When she drew back, Boyd took her hands in his, and for a long moment they remained like that, his secret laid bare between them and their emotions intertwining.

  She lowered her hand to his jaw, and he couldn’t have kept the truth from spilling out if he had wanted to.

  “It’s all a little foggy. It was physically and emotionally painful. Janie, I understand the feeling of not wanting to rely on others. I was in the hospital for a long time, and I had to rely on other people for
everything. I guess I was lucky they grafted my skin, because if they hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to become a firefighter. But that wasn’t the worst part of that time in my life.”

  “Boyd,” she whispered, and that one word pulled more of his past from his heart.

  “I was nine, and so scared—not just for myself. For my brother, Chet, who was eight, and my sister, Haylie, who was six. For my parents. My father carried me and Chet to safety. One kid under each arm, which is why you felt that patch of skin that hadn’t been burned. That area was protected by my father’s arm. Luckily, Chet didn’t suffer burns as badly as I did. After my father got us outside safely, he went back for my sister.” He paused to try to calm the internal turmoil that followed the memories. He rarely let himself revisit that awful night or the painful weeks that followed.

  “There was so much smoke. I can still smell it, thick and ashy, black as night. I can still feel my eyes and throat burning. My father was a big lumberjack of a man. Plumes of smoke swallowed him the second he went back inside for Haylie. There were flames shooting out the second-story windows. I’ll never forget the sounds of glass shattering. My mother managed to use her body to shield Haylie completely, except for one small burn on Haylie’s foot. My father got Haylie out safely and raced back in for my mother.”

  “You’re shaking.” She ran her hands up his forearms. “Boyd, you don’t have to tell me anymore.”

  “I want you to know what I went through, so you can see that I understand why you value your independence, why you don’t want to be treated differently than anyone else. So you know the real me.” He inhaled a long breath and blew it out slowly. “We lived in an old farmhouse in Meadowside, Virginia. Balloon-frame construction is what they call it. Old wiring caught fire, climbed up the walls to the attic, engulfing the house, weakening the walls. It was a terribly windy night. The kind of wind that howled through the trees. They called it the perfect storm—crazy name for a tragedy. There was no actual storm, just wind—but all the ingredients were there. A propane tank with a faulty valve next to the house, flames spreading with the wind from the house to the yard, snaking under and around the tank. I remember watching the flames consume the tank, and I don’t know if it was in my head or if I was screaming, but I remember thinking my dad needed to hurry. Seconds after my father disappeared into the smoke to save my mother, the roof collapsed and then there was an explosion that blew us back. I must have passed out. When I woke up, I was in the hospital and my parents were gone.”