Читать книгу At First Touch - Cindy Miles - Страница 13

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.”

He obliged, handing her one of the little plastic bags on a roller close to the bin. Reagan felt around the oranges, squeezing lightly until she had chosen her three. Silently, she stood. Waiting. He could tell she was warring with herself.

“Okay, what next?” he asked, throwing in a bag of seedless red grapes. He plucked a few out and started popping them into his mouth. “Want a grape?”

“No, I don’t want a grape. They’re not washed. The pasta and spaghetti sauce aisle, please. And I need ground Italian sausage.”

“Good choice, one of my faves,” he answered. Pretending not to notice her grumpiness. Eric guided them down aisle after aisle, and they’d stopped at the tomato sauce to ponder the selections when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. When he looked, it was Jep.

He answered it. “Franco’s Pizza. Pick up or delivery?”

“Pizza my ass, you crazy boy.”

Eric glanced at Reagan, since Jep’s loud voice could be heard quite plainly without the speaker being on. A very subtle grin lifted the corners of those plump lips, and it made him smile, too. “What’d you forget, Jep my good man?”

“Buttermilk. I need some buttermilk. You talk that Quinn girl into going with you?”

Eric laughed. “Of course,” he replied, watching Reagan’s face. “She can’t keep her hands off me, Jep. It’s the craziest thing—umph!”

Just that fast, Reagan planted her pointy little elbow into his ribs.

Jep laughed. “Right. Sounds like it. And get me a candy bar, son. A big one.”

“Copy that, Gramps,” Eric wheezed, and stuffed the phone in his back pocket. He rubbed his side. “You punch pretty hard for a runt.”

“You deserved it,” she countered, and started pushing the grocery cart. “A large jar of plain sauce and angel-hair pasta, if you don’t mind.”

“Good choice,” he answered, and grabbed the items from the shelf. He could tell Reagan was just not going to cave. They passed a woman holding a silver tray filled with meat and cheese on toothpicks, and Eric plucked two up and grinned at the woman. He popped one chunk of cheese in his mouth.

“Reagan, here, you gotta try this cheese.”

“No, thanks.”

Eric popped the other one and nodded at the woman. “You don’t know what you’re missing. I could eat the whole tray.” Still she said nothing. “Anything else?”

“French bread,” she answered. “Wine.”

“Gotcha.” They made their way first to the wine and beer aisle, where he studied the entire row of choices.

“Red or white or...pink?” he asked.

“Red.”

Ah, at least she did care about that one. Scanning the red choices, he picked one, staring at the label and wondering how in the hell he was supposed to know if it was right or not, shrugged, nestled it into the cart, then headed to the bread aisle, and he handed her a store-made loaf. “How’s this one?” He glanced down at her, watching her response.

She squeezed it, looking completely uninterested. “Fine.”

Eric laughed. “Reagan, you didn’t even smell it.”

A second—maybe two—passed before she lifted it to her nose and inhaled. She nodded. “Like I said—fine.”

Eric dropped his head and sighed. “Anything else? If you say one single girlie product—” he glanced up and around “—or anything from aisle eleven, actually, I’ll strangle you.”

A tiny smile coaxed her lips upward. She even tried to hide it by turning her head. So slight a movement he nearly missed it.

But he didn’t. And it made him grin.

She shook her head. “Nope. After the meat aisle I’m finished.”

“Are you sure? I mean...” He bumped her shoulder with his and they made their way to the meat department. “We could make three more passes by the deli and nearly get an entire meal from that lady holding the platter of cheese jammed on toothpicks.”

Again, she shook her head and tried to hide a smile. “You’re so weird,” she said. “No, thanks.”

“All right, then,” he answered, proud that he’d coaxed an almost-laugh from her. “But don’t be all sorry about it later, when you’re wishing you had cheese on a stick.”

“I’ll consider it,” she answered. She sighed. “Thanks for helping me out, Malone.”

His gaze raked over her, and he tugged her ponytail. “Anytime. And I mean that.” He glanced down at the sausage. “Sweet or hot?”

She gave a nod. “Sweet.” Eric grabbed a large pack and together they made their way to the milk aisle, where Eric grabbed a gallon of whole milk and Jep’s buttermilk, then headed to the front of the store. He guided Reagan to a relatively empty checkout line. After loading all of the items, including a monster candy bar for Jep, Eric slid his card through to pay.

“Eric,” Reagan said, and when he looked, she held a fifty-dollar bill. “Please.”

“Well, I would,” he countered, lowering her hand with his. “But I aim to eat some of this fine Italiano fare you’re preparing, so it’s only right that I pay for it.”

The frown on her face proved she was not very happy.

“Besides, I already slid my card.” He looked at the cashier, Sarah, and inclined his head. “Tell her, Sarah. I already slid the card. What’s done is done.”

Sarah was a middle-aged woman with black hair tucked behind her ears and several shots of silver showing at her temples. Her eyebrows rose and she shrugged, but a smile tipped her lipstick-pink lips. She’d worked at the market for years now. “It’s true, honey. The card hath sliddeth, the deal done.”

Eric winked at Sarah and grinned.

Reagan shook her head. “You didn’t have to.” Then she lifted her chin. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “But if you pull something like that again, I’ll hurt you.”

Eric cast a quick glance at Sarah and shrugged.

“Gotcha. You’ll hurt me,” he offered. “Let’s get outta here, eh?”

The moment the automatic doors opened, heat poured in, replacing the frigid temp of the grocery store. The parking lot was filling up, and they made their way to Jep’s truck. “Sorry, no air,” he apologized. Jep’s truck was like a damned oven. “Weird, but I kinda like it like that.”

“I’m used to it,” Reagan claimed, and, holding on to the lip of the truck bed, made her way to the passenger’s side.

Eric quickly loaded the grocery bags, parked the cart in the drop spot and hurried back to the truck. He leaped in. “Anywhere else?” he asked, turning over the engine.

“We have meat and dairy in the back, Eric,” Reagan reminded.

Eric glanced at his occupant. “So. We’ll drop the stuff off and go grab a bite to eat? Maybe?” He pulled out of the parking lot.

“Thanks, but no,” she said. “I need to get back home.”

“But Reagan, we can—”

She turned to him then, blue eyes crazy mad and glassy. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Eric turned another quick glance at Reagan. “Other than you’re gorgeous? Hmm. Gimme a sec. Let me think...”

She turned to the open window, facing away from him.

For once, he didn’t push. He left her to her thoughts as they crossed the two-lane bridge that carried them over the marsh and back to the island. Every few moments, he’d glance her way. Her body was rigid again, uncomfortable, like she was ready to bolt. Did he make her that uneasy? And wasn’t he doing it on purpose to lighten her up? Eric made it all the way to her drive, then, surprisingly, to her house, without uttering another word. The moment the truck stopped, she opened the door.

“Reagan,” he started, and climbed out and met her at the tailgate.

She slipped her glasses back on. “Look, Eric. I appreciate your eagerness to help me. But...I just can’t.”

“Can’t what?” he asked.

“All this...smelling of things, and seeing with my other senses. I’m just not ready for this new life that’s been thrown at me.” She inhaled, lifted her chin. “And I’m not ready for you.”

“Me? Aw, come on, of course you’re ready for me. There’s nothing to me. Really. I swear.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Can you just leave my bags on the porch by the door?”

Eric stared at her, and she was reeking with frustration, anger. She was independent, and she’d been robbed of it. Being a soldier? Yeah, she took it twice as hard. He could tell. “What? And risk Jep, either of my brothers or, hell, your sister socking me in the nose for just throwing your stuff on the porch?” He laughed softly and grabbed the bags, slipping them all onto both of his forearms. “Hell and no. Soldier, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to tap your little stick up those steps there and open the door for me. I’m already loaded down with your groceries.”

Reagan swore under her breath. He couldn’t quite make out the word, exactly, but thought it sounded familiar. Then she started moving toward the porch, her stick slapping at the ground in angry swipes until she felt the hard-wood planks. Once up the steps, she stomped to the door and unlocked it.

“You can set them on the counter in the kitchen,” she spat.

Eric trotted up the steps and brushed past her. Sitting all of the bags on the granite countertop, he turned to find Reagan still standing by the door. It was still open. A silent invitation for him to leave.

With a hefty sigh, Eric walked to her, and just before he stepped outside, he stopped. Regarded her face, the angry lines around her mouth. He knew she wasn’t specifically angry at him. He was her outlet, probably.

And he was going to work that anger right out of her.

“Thanks for taking me,” she announced again. “I...appreciate it.”

“What time should I be back?” he asked, smiling.

She shook her head and stared off toward the kitchen, aggravated. “Just...come whenever your brother comes.”

Eric’s grin widened. “Do you know how foxy you are when you’re pissed off?”

Reagan’s mouth pulled tight...right over the smile she was trying so hard to keep off her face. “Shut up and leave, will ya?”

Eric’s lips twitched and he leaned closer. God, she was so damn cute. “Please don’t screw up the ingredients.”

“Out!” Reagan barked.

Scooting past her, he stepped outside, and with a final glance over his shoulder, stared at his new neighbor. His old childhood pal.

The hot girl he was determined to make laugh.

Eric stopped at Jep’s truck and glanced over his shoulder, staring at the Quinns’ river house. A slow smile tipped his lips upward. “See ya tonight, Reagan Rose!”

When she didn’t answer, he merely chuckled, put the old truck into Reverse and headed home.

* * *

APPARENTLY, REAGAN DIDN’T know the force she was up against. Yeah, flirting was his character, and all along he’d been telling himself he was just helping out an old childhood pal.

But was he really?