9781618854674DonovansBluesWaitsNC (2 page)

Donovan’s sax
suddenly reverberated through the air, silencing the direction of her thoughts.
Amanda closed her eyes, vibrating on the single drawn out note. That sweet tone
expanded and grew, making her body taut with anticipation. And then his voice,
mellow as whiskey, carried over the band like a caress. She responded to him,
to the sensuous rhythm that wrapped around her and insinuated erotic images in
her mind. The song rolled over her, rippling through her skin with a steady,
building beat.
Like making love.
Her pelvis flexed
involuntarily as though moving to a phantom lover. She imagined Donovan’s hands
running over her as their bodies moved to the tempo in her mind, and abandoned
herself
to the music.

Amanda’s eyes
snapped open suddenly. Lost in her reverie, the musicians had already exited
the stage at the end of the set and now spilled into the crowd. She gulped the
remainder of her wine and slipped through the packed bodies. Donovan sat at a
table speaking with the guitar player briefly, who then turned around and made
his way to the bar. She approached slowly, heart beating erratically as she
neared the table. She cleared her throat shyly. “Hello? Mr. Strait?” His head
turned toward her. “I just wanted to say I think you’re—great, I love your
music,” she finished quickly in a rush.

“Thank you.
Thank you very much. Would you like to sit down?” He moved a chair out, and a
flash of white caught her eye. Amanda stopped. It was a cane. That meant
—

“Did you wish
to sit down?” he asked again.

He was blind.
Amanda cursed her stupidity as she sat. Her air of expectation deflated. His black
wraparound sunglasses suited him. But his shades and his slow measured ascent
up the stage weren’t a part of some cool musician persona. Donovan was
protecting his eyes and counting steps. Maybe if she wasn’t so lost in the
music, she might have noticed. Worse, a sneaking suspicion grew as she replayed
the shared looks and giggles of her friends as they urged her to make a play
for him. Her cheeks burned. So, they knew and she didn’t. They probably thought
it was funny setting her up to make a pass at a blind man, who couldn’t see her
efforts.

“My name is
Amanda.” She looked at him carefully, covertly even though she didn’t have to.
He didn’t look disabled or helpless. His black T-shirt stretched over his broad
shoulders. He looked strong, not like the bouncers at the club, but with an
athletic swimmer’s build. His pale skin suggested he spent a lot of late nights
inside. The presence of that generous, curving mouth saved his features from
being too sharp.

“Call me
Donovan. What are you drinking?” he asked.

“Um, just
some white wine.”

He signaled
his hand through the air for the bartender.

“I should be
buying you a drink,” said Amanda. He nursed a glass of scotch in front of him.

“Then you can
do the next round if you want.” That same half-smile appeared again. A frisson
of electricity shot through her.

All her fantasies leading up to this moment of actually speaking to him.
Being close to
him.
And yet all her preconceived notions about him were wrong and so not
based on reality. She was way out of her depth here, out of her comfort zone. Maybe
she would just have a drink and leave.

“So you’ve been
checking out the show. Isn’t it a little late for a weeknight for you? Or do
you keep musician hours?”

“Yes, I guess
it is,” Amanda confessed, “I work during the week as a graphic designer. But maybe
I will play hooky tomorrow.”

“Well I won’t
tell,” he said slowly, leaning in to her. His tone implied they shared a
special secret. Amanda’s stomach tightened as she changed the subject.

“How do you
come up with all of that? It’s amazing.”

He scratched
his chin. “Well I’ve been doing it for a long time. Practice I guess.
Maybe before you were born.”
He laughed.

“I am not
that young,” Amanda informed him. Donovan looked like he had maybe ten years on
her.

“No, I guess
not. But your voice sounds young.
Sweet.
May I?”

His hand
reached out toward hers and gripped it gently. “I can tell a lot by a voice, by
sounds…and by touch.” A strong, callused palm enveloped hers. Her heart
quickened as he stroked her left hand with his roughened fingers, and her
breath drew in sharply. He smiled as he passed over her bare ring finger,
lingering there. “Your hands are soft. Not too soft though.” He didn’t let go,
leaving her body buzzing with the contact.

“So, here you
are by yourself in a little beat down blues club. Is it too late for your
friends? You must be the night owl of the group.”

Intrigued, Amanda
couldn’t help giving him a curious once over. “You seem to know a lot about
me.”

He
straightened. “You’re about twenty-five,” he replied with a slight smile.
“About five foot five.
How am I doing?”

“I’m
twenty-seven. And five foot four. How do you do that?”

“A lot of
people think I don’t know anything because I can’t see,” he answered.

Amanda flushed
at his astuteness. She had to resist the urge to tug her hand away in
embarrassment.

“Yes, I am
blind. But I still see by picking up information with my other senses. From
talking to you I can tell where your voice is coming from, that gives me an
idea of your height.
Of your body.
Your reaction to me
guessing your age can give me a clue to it, also the words you use…”

He leaned in
conspiratorially. “I don’t like to tell most people how I do it. I like to leave
them confused—a bit off balance.”

At this, Amanda
felt ashamed at her initial reaction. So, Donovan Strait couldn’t see. He was
exactly as he was before. This new knowledge shouldn’t change anything.

“So, what
else do you know?” Amanda asked playfully.

Donovan
paused thoughtfully. “You play by the rules—since you’re not sure you’re
playing hooky tomorrow. That’s an expression I haven’t heard in a while.”

“Not always,”
answered Amanda softly, startled to realize she was flirting openly with him. Trepidation
about his blindness dampened her desire at first, but now her attraction
flickered stronger than ever.

“Oh? So you
are
going to play hooky tomorrow?”

His voice grew
smoky, full of sexual promise. Amanda swallowed hard. Coming to a bar late at
night, boldly approaching a man she didn’t know, was certainly breaking the
rules.

It was
exhilarating.

“So what do
you think of when you hear the music?”

A devilish
smile lit his face when she took too long to answer.

“You’re
holding something back,” he probed.

“I
—uh feel the music coming over me,
rolling over me.”

“Caressing
you?” asked Donovan.

Amanda’s face
burned as all her images earlier in the night came back.

He didn’t
wait for her reply. “Touch, like sound, is very powerful. It’s one of the most
powerful senses.” Donovan traced his fingertips over Amanda’s wrist, over the
pulse thrumming there.

“Are you
excited Amanda?”

“Yes,” she
whispered. In truth, she was very excited, more so than she could remember
being by any man. Any remaining reservations vanished under his expert
seduction.

“By me?”

He smiled,
already knowing the answer. His voice dropped a few octaves. “You’re wondering
what it would be like to be made love to by a man that knows things other men

don’t…
who can see you with his hands. Who
could touch you in ways other men cannot.”

Amanda didn’t
answer. She drew shallow breaths as graphic images flitted through her mind.
His grip tightened reflexively on her wrist. Sensual awareness flooded Amanda. Her
heightened pulse, her uneven respirations told him everything he needed to
know, and he read her like an open book, as though her body was
braille
.

“A lot of men
are only interested in what they
see
in women. What they narrowly define as beauty.
With one, lone
sense.
They don’t appreciate a woman’s voice. The way her breath
quickens as her excitement grows.
The scent of her arousal.
The smell of her perfume when she’s gone.
People are
meant to be tactile. Do you know the softest part of a woman’s body? Most men
would say her thighs. What about the inside of her wrist?
The
area behind her knee?
The underside of her upper arm?
The webbing between her fingers and toes…?”

Donovan raised
Amanda’s hand, pressing her delicate wrist against his full lips as his fingers
laced briefly with hers.

Her skin
burned with his touch and sparks lit up along her spine.

“Her lips,
the area behind the ear…”

His hand
touched her hair, trailing over the earlobe underneath and moving behind the
shell of her ear, to Amanda’s sigh. She swore the whorl of his thumb left an
imprint on the tender area, scoring it with heat. He withdrew his fingers from
her pulse point, raising the tips to his nostrils.

“What scent
are you wearing?”

“White Orchid.”

“It’s
beautiful, but you should never wear scents with me. I’d rather smell you, your
skin. Would you wash your perfume off for me, Amanda?” The request hung in the
air for a moment, but she felt like an automaton under command.

Lightheaded, Amanda
pushed away from the table and made her way to the dingy bathroom. She rinsed
several times to remove the smell of the cheap soap she used as best she could
and dried her neck off with paper towel.

Trembling
with unsatisfied desire, she stood at the mirror, taking in her appearance. She
automatically pulled out a lip gloss from her purse, and then stopped. It didn’t
matter her makeup had worn away. Her looks didn’t need to be artificially
enhanced. What mattered was how she sounded, her words and voice, how she felt
to his touch, and how she smelled to him.

This dance of
courtship
—of seduction
—was like no other. She couldn’t use
her normal arsenal of feminine wiles. And she wanted
, needed
him to want her. She chewed her lip, considering her next
move while starting to leave. But then inspiration hit. Amanda slid into a
cubicle and locked the door. She could do something he might appreciate.

She slipped
her lace panties off entirely and stuffed them in her small purse. Her legs felt
heavy, languorous as she inched her skirt up. Her thighs tingled as she traced
the satiny skin and parted them to allow access, dipping her fingers into the moist
slit of her sex. Her body stiffened as she passed over the small sensitive nub
of flesh nestled there. She withdrew her hand to rub her damp fingers along her
neck, then behind her ears.
Let’s just
see
how good his sense of smell really is.

She made her
way back to the table. “I’m back,” Amanda said softly as she slid into the
chair beside him.

“Is this
better?” She leaned toward him as he inclined his head toward hers. As he
breathed her in, she closed her eyes, tickled by his warm breath on her neck.
His hands threaded into her hair convulsively and he chuckled low.

“You’re full
of surprises,” he said. “I love the way you smell, Amanda. It’s a very
interesting scent you’re wearing now.
Intoxicating.”

Amanda’s face
burned. Her titillation worked.

“Did you
think I wouldn’t know?” His fingers traced her neck lazily while his lips
brushed her ear. “Are you testing me? Did I pass?” He stroked her collarbone as
he pulled away, smiling. “I said I would notice things other men don’t. I do.
Do you believe that?”

Amanda
swallowed hard, fighting for some control as the erotic web he cast tightened a
little more around her. “Yes, I do.”

“I notice
your breathing is heavier. I can feel your desire. What are you wearing?”
Before she could respond
,
his fingers slid from where they
rested below the base of her neck to touch the silky material of her top. “A
blouse and…” his hand dropped under the cloak of the tablecloth to feel, “…a skirt.
The material is so light. What color is it?”

“Blue.”

His fingers fondled
the fabric, the heat of his touch on her bare thigh thrilling. “What’s your
favorite song of mine Amanda?”

“Midnight in
Harlem,” she answered breathlessly.

“Hmm…You like
the slower stuff, don’t you?
A slower tempo?”
Donovan’s fingers trailed up her leg, skimming carefully as though waiting for
permission. She didn’t impede his progress, didn’t want to stop this sexy
stranger from doing wickedly wonderful things to her. Time slowed for Amanda as
the rush of her blood drowned out surrounding noises of the club. “Women are
like songs. Some are hard and fast…some are all night long.”