Pain slashed through Alana’s vision. Her reaction had come too slow when the heavy vase hit the wall mere inches in front of her. Glass had sliced her face and flown into her eyes. And her worst mistake had been rubbing them to try and dislodge the fragments.

“She needs an ambulance.” Mitchell’s voice came from beside her, firm and demanding.

She kept her eyes squeezed shut and reached out a hand to grasp his shirt. He responded immediately, pulling her into the protective warmth of his embrace. She needed the grounding his arms provided. The comfort. For the first time in her life, she was truly scared, and the majority of her fear stemmed from the inevitable call she’d have to make to her mother.

Mom, I can’t see.

Whenever she opened her eyes, the burn greeted her, and everything came into view in a kaleidoscope of blurred images. Even the soft breeze of the air conditioner made her snap her lids shut again. If this was permanent, she wouldn’t be able to work, and she’d lose the limited independence she had fought to achieve.

Everything would be ruined. Her life. Her future. Her happiness.

A snap of bright light came through the darkness. Once, twice, three times. She flinched with each burst of illumination.

“Get those assholes out of here. And I want every photo destroyed!” Mitchell’s ferocious bark made her wince. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll get you out of here in a sec.” Both his arms cuddled her close, and she sank further into the embrace. “Has someone called an ambulance?”

“Umm, excuse me, Mr. Davies. If her eyes are the problem, she would be best to see an optometrist.” The man’s voice was young and filled with unease. “The hospitals aren’t equipped to handle complicated sight problems and usually only give the bare minimum care.”

“Somehow I don’t think any optometrists will be open at—” Mitchell released his grip with one arm “—one-thirty in the morning.”

Alana listened to the exchange in silence, trying to slow her rampant breathing so she could think straight.

“My mother’s an optometrist. I’m sure she’d be happy to meet with you, no matter the time.” The young man’s voice grew in strength, the confidence he held in his mother clearly shining through.

Alana shook her head and clutched at Mitch’s shirt. She needed someone familiar to help her, someone she wouldn’t be ashamed to cry in front of, or apprehensive about clinging to.

“I need Kate,” she whispered and cleared her dry throat. “Can you take me to her? She can help me wash my eyes. It might dislodge whatever is blurring my vision.”

“Would washing them help?” Mitchell hadn’t directed the question to her.

“I don’t think so. Not with tap water anyway.” The young stranger replied.

Mitchell’s other arm came around to hold her again, pulling her tight. His concern vibrated from him, increasing her alarm.

“Get her away from the gawking people and take her to find her friend. I’ll call my mom.”

Mitchell’s head rubbed against her hair, as if he nodded in reply. “We’ll be in my suite. Call the room as soon as you find out.”

His arms moved from around her back, and the warmth from his chest faded. Strong hands encased her shoulders, supporting her on more than a physical level. “Are you all right with that, sweetheart?”

She continued to squeeze her eyes shut, trying not to flutter her lids and aggravate the debris still in there. “Yes. Kate will be able to look after me.”

The grip on her shoulders tightened. “I’ll take care of you.”

She sucked in a breath, overwhelmed with…everything. His scent, his touch, his comfort. He placed a tender kiss on her forehead, and her control shattered. She let out a sob and squeezed her lids tighter. The burn of tears was excruciating. His kindness was too much.

Men weren’t meant to be like this. They weren’t kindhearted or gentle or protective. Especially not strangers…or so her mother had led her to believe.

“I’m sorry. This is my fault. I knew seeing you again was too good to be true.”

His anguish gave her the determination to be strong. Lifting her chin, she smiled and placed a hand on his chest, pressing against the hard muscle beneath. “It’s not your fault. At least I’ll have a great story to tell my friends back home.”

Was it morally acceptable to tell a lie if part of the statement was true?

She honestly didn’t believe the situation was his fault, but she would never tell her friends back home. If her mother found out, she would worry herself into a stroke. It didn’t matter how old Alana became, her mom never stopped treating her like a fragile piece of porcelain waiting to be broken by a man.

Mitchell leaned in close and brushed his cheek against hers. “I hope by the time I let you go, you’ll have a far better story to tell.”

Anticipation skittered over her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps, which distracted her from the pain. She was falling for a man she didn’t know and couldn’t even see.

He stepped back, and a slight sense of vertigo hit her mind. She wavered, wobbling in space. Within seconds his hands were back on her body, lifting her off the ground. She squealed as her arms flailed for something to grip. “What are you doing?”

He began to walk, sure and certain, her weight not hindering him in the least. “I’m getting you upstairs.”

Whispers passed her ears from people in the lobby while he cradled her in his arms, against his hard chest. He ignored her protests, and by the time they reached the elevator, she had relaxed and rested her hands around his neck.

Slowly, she opened her lids, hoping for some improvement to the coarse scratching in her eyes, but the discomfort and lack of vision hadn’t changed. Fear bubbled in her belly, and she silently let out a long breath, needing to calm the anxiety that tried to regain hold.

“I had an uncle whose eyes were damaged by hot metal shavings. He burned his eyelids and singed his brows as well.” His voice came soft and sweet while the elevator ascended. “The damage seemed horrific at the time. I remember overhearing my parents say he would probably lose an eye or go blind.”

Alana rubbed away the stray hair tickling her cheek. She didn’t want to become engrossed in a story that may have an ending that would break her heart.

“A few weeks later he was fine.”

She sighed in relief.

“I was young at the time, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t have surgery either. So I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

“I hope so,” she whispered and rested her head against his shoulder. Apart from helping out on her mother’s retreat, Alana captured breathtaking landscape images with her camera and sold them to a local art gallery. If she couldn’t see, there would be no way for her to make extra money. She didn’t think there’d be much of a market for blind photographers.

The elevator dinged its arrival, and she heard the soft swoosh of the doors opening. Mitchell walked forward, not once needing to reposition her in his arms. His strength astounded her.

“You know my legs are still entirely functional, right?”

He chuckled, and the deep masculine sound made her smile. “Yeah, I know. But how cool was it to act like the macho hero in front of everyone in the lobby when I gallantly rushed you into my arms?”

She let out a bark of laughter and whacked him on the chest.

“I’ve always wanted to be a gentleman. I’ve just never had the opportunity.”

Alana couldn’t imagine him being anything but a chivalrous. In the little time they’d spent together, he seemed genuine. Open. Trustworthy. All the traits her mother tried to convince her didn’t exist in a man.

“Who knows, I might knock Lynch off the popularity pedestal for a little while.”

“Lynch?” She frowned, wishing she could see his eyes while they spoke.

Another chuckle sounded. “You’re not a fan of Reckless Beat, are you?”

She bit her lip, unsure if her honesty would upset him.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. You weren’t the screaming groupie type.” He wriggled his fingers against her ribcage, and she gasped at the tickling sensation shooting through her body. Before tonight, she would’ve agreed that she wasn’t the screaming groupie type. However, right now her lungs burned with something hot and needy, pleading to be released.

“Lynch is the lead singer. Mason Lynch. Blake, who I introduced you to before, is the bass guitarist. The guy on stage with the shoulder length wavy hair is Ryan. He plays rhythm guitar. Then there’s Sean on drums. But for the love of god, if you ever meet the guy, don’t tell him I mentioned his name last. He has an inferiority complex.”

He came to a stop, held her tighter in his arms, and kicked out his leg. His shoe thudded against what she assumed was the suite door.

“Mitchell!” She wriggled, trying to get him to put her down even though she didn’t want to be out of his arms. “Let me go so you can knock on the door.”

“I’m fine. Blake will answer the door in a sec…as long as he isn’t in the middle of increasing the band’s popularity with your friend.”

“What do you… Oh.” Her cheeks heated. “Sorry. I’m a bit slow.” She was an idiot. It wasn’t as if she expected Kate to be in there playing solitaire. Alana had been savoring the joys of living vicariously through her friend for years.

He booted the door again.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Put me—”

She heard the door handle turn and the sound of the door scraping over the carpet.

“Al.” Kate’s voice held a note of panic.

Alana tried to open her eyes, only to close them seconds later when the scratching and blurred vision became too much. “I’m fine.”

Mitchell strode forward, and the light behind her lids darkened. “She’s not fine,” he growled, suddenly sounding more protective and territorial. “Where’s Blake?”

“He’s on the hotel phone. It started to ring a few seconds before you knocked on the door.”

Alana pivoted and turned through the darkness until Mitchell lowered her. The back of her legs hit something firm but soft, and she settled down into the sofa. Large hands squeezed her knees, and she pressed her lips together, holding back a sigh. They were Mitchell’s hands. His warm, strong, talented hands.

“Will you be all right for a minute? Can I get you a drink or something?”

She shook her head and hoped her voice wouldn’t come out raspy. “I’m fine.”

“I’m going to see what’s happening with the phone call. I’ll be straight back.”

She nodded and let out a deep breath when his presence slipped away. It was stupid and crazy and foolish, and yet she already missed his strength. She craved his comfort.

“What the hell happened?” Kate’s voice came from beside her as the sofa dipped.

Clenching her lids tighter with the abrupt slip into vertigo, Alana leaned back in the seat. “Slight altercation downstairs.”

“Slight altercation?”

She sensed Kate hovering close to her face, peering down at her. Blake’s voice came soft from the other side of the room, along with Mitchell’s frantic whispers. Their conversation was too quiet for her to make out, so she passed the lonely minutes reciting what happened downstairs.

“Can I have a look?” Kate’s breath brushed along her cheek.

Taking a deep breath, Alana tried to open her eyes again. When she lifted her lids, the scratching sensation caused her to blink rapidly, which only made the discomfort worse. All she could see were different shades of shadow lingering close to her face.

“Sorry,” Kate whispered. “I thought I might be able to see something.”

A cupboard squeaked from the other side of the room, and moments later a familiar hand cupped hers. “Here’s a drink of water. Can you grab it for me?”

Their fingers brushed when she grasped the glass. Hyper-awareness rushed through her veins at the mere connection. It was stupid. Naïve. And still, all she wanted was his chest to snuggle against and the hope that he would make everything OK.

“The optometrist will be ready to see us in around twenty minutes.”

Fate was cruel. Earlier, she’d been reluctant to meet him, now she didn’t want to leave. Alana ran a finger up and down the glass, procrastinating, buying a few more moments in his presence. She had to say goodbye. A famous musician had better things to do with his time.

“Kate can take me.” The words sounded reluctant even to her ears.

“Yea—” Kate stopped mid-word.

Alana turned her head toward Kate, then to Mitchell, and back again. They were silently communicating, and Alana didn’t like it.

“No, I’ll take you.” Mitchell clutched her knee, and she fought the urge to squeeze her thighs together. Surely there had to be a hierarchy of priorities in a situation like this, and sexual desires shouldn’t be at the top of the list. “I already have a driver waiting.”

Another uncomfortable silence followed, broken only by Blake clearing his throat in the distance. She wanted to growl in frustration, even blinked her eyes open to try to see what they were doing, but it was no use.

“Maybe I can stay here and have a quick nap while Mitch takes you. It won’t be long until I have to get up for work, and I could use some sleep.”

Alana faced Kate. She felt like a burden to everyone and didn’t know who to intrude upon. Should she trust her instincts and go with the intense stranger who wanted to take care of her, or beg her friend to give her the safer option?

“Sorry, I forgot you have to work in the morning.”

“Technically, it’s today, but I’m not too worried. I can run on a few hours sleep.” A tender hand rested on her shoulder and squeezed.

Alana mentally pulled up her big girl panties and raised her chin. She trusted Kate to help lead her into the right decision, and if Mitchell was determined to take her, it would be stupid to protest. “All right.”

She held out her glass and someone took it. Mitchell’s hand supported her elbow as she moved to her feet, and his heady scent filled her nostrils. “I guess that means you’ll be helping me wash my face and use the facilities too.”

He chuckled. “Sweetheart, I’ll help you do whatever the hell you like.”