The next morning was humid and rainy. As beautiful as Hawaii was, it rained quite often. The only good thing was it never lasted. You could always depend on the sun to reappear.
Lucas’s brother only lived twenty minutes away. He had chosen a rather secluded island to make his home, known for treacherously large waves and strong rip currents. It wasn’t surprising, considering what I’d read on the internet. Lincoln Bass enjoyed danger. He appeared to be a thrill-seeker by nature, an adrenaline junkie, as Lucas had described.
How foreign it must have felt for him to be unable to do what he loved. I could sense his pain deep in my marrow; we shared more than he’d ever know. To him, I would just be his brother’s friend, wanting to help.
I noticed a large iron gate as I drove up to the call box. It took several tries before someone answered. “Yeah, what do you want?” The voice sounded gruff and irritated.
“Um… your… brother said you’d be expecting me,” I stammered, nervous. It’s just a voice. I chastised myself for being so timid.
I heard nothing. Crickets. After a few minutes, I spoke up. “Are you still there, Mr. Bass?”
Silence. Then the gates slowly opened. My heart was beating so fast I felt the vibration in my ears. My hands felt sweaty as I gripped the steering wheel.
With such massive gates, I was expecting a castle—with a moat. I chuckled in an attempt to calm myself. The house itself was rather quaint. While I owned an estate with manicured gardens and an Olympic-size pool, this looked more like a beach rental. It wasn’t very glamorous or what I expected for a famous and wealthy author. The house was good-sized, but the exterior was garnished with surfboards, diving gear, and an unkempt yard. Several fancy sports cars and a motorcycle littered the circular driveway. Maybe this was due to his injury.
I clutched my purse as I exited the car. My hands shook as I pocketed my keys, walking slowly toward the door. It was one of those moments you hoped for the best, but deep inside, you knew you’d get the worst. If his attitude were dark and dismal like his voice, I would just walk away. I was doing him a favor. This man had no idea how much willpower it took to come here.
I tapped on the door, and it swung open wide. I was greeted with a putrid smell that sent me staggering backward.
Oh my God. Lincoln Bass was still tall but no longer as muscular as his online pictures. This man looked sallow and deranged. I had no doubt he hadn’t bathed in weeks, maybe months. I almost felt the need to drag him outside and hose him down. His shorts and open shirt hung loosely on him. I recognized the lack of nutrition because I’d gone through similar things after leaving the hospital thirteen years ago. His hair was uncombed and greasy, accompanied by a bushy beard. This did not look like the man on the back of the book—unless he was channeling Robinson Crusoe, and even that character had a reason for his dishevelment.
My nose scrunched up in disgust as he appeared to look at me. My natural instinct took over as I waved my hand in front of his face. I needed to confirm this man had no sight. I sucked in air as my eyes landed on his. Jesus, I’d never seen eyes like his. I had traveled the world and met many beautiful people, but none had this hue.
For a moment, I flinched, panic bubbling up, because he didn’t appear blind. The internet was right. It was hard to characterize his eye color—blue or green? Or maybe a mixture of both, like marbles. The closer I got, my senses were bombarded with the reek of spoiled food, an unkempt house, and body odor. This situation was far worse than Lucas knew. I’d bet he had no idea his brother had become this.
His stance grew wobbly as he pinned a scowl in my direction. “So you coming in or what?” he growled.
I stood frozen because I wasn’t sure I could stomach the overwhelming smell of sweat and lack of hygiene. There wasn’t a chance in hell I could work here. It would make me physically ill.
I slowly entered, trying my best not to make any contact as I squeezed past him. “Um, yes, your brother sent me.” Jesus, what was I, twelve? He already knew that, and I was repeating myself like some bumbling idiot.
“I get the feeling you haven’t been around many blind people,” he stated, gesturing for me to sit. “Let me get my glasses so I can check you out.” He paused as I began to retreat. “Just kidding. Can’t see shit.”
I sucked in a breath as I realized I might have bitten off more than I could chew. Dealing with him wasn’t going to be a picnic. “You’re right. I haven’t been around anyone blind.” I lied. “But I’d like to help,” I replied, thankful he couldn’t see the expression of terror permeating my face.
He slammed the door and faced the sound of my voice, his arms crossed. “And exactly how could you help me?” he asked snidely.
“Well, Lucas thought I could aid in your writing. I understand you need to finalize your book in several months, so I’d be happy to help you any way I can.”
He laughed while twisting his beard. “Oh, really. Any way you can. I can actually think of several areas I need assistance. I assume you’re beautiful because you smell delicious.”
Heat flared in my cheeks as I heard his words mixed with sexual overtones. “Mr. Bass.” I spoke sternly.
“Lincoln, my name is Lincoln. Mr. Bass is my father. But I have a strong feeling you’ll be calling me God at some point.”
I became incensed. “Well, the internet never indicated you were an asshole. I’m guessing that personality trait came about at the same time you lost your sight.”
He walked toward me, feeling his way at every step. “I’m much worse than any asshole you’ve ever met. You may want to get out now. Coming here was a nice gesture, but tell Lucas I don’t need his fucking charity. I’ll figure shit out on my own.”
“I can see you’ve done a spectacular job so far. You do know your home is a wreck; it’s like visiting the set of Hoarding. And I’ve seen homeless men living on the beach with better hygiene. When’s the last time you showered?” I was surprised I was so vocal, but his lack of sight made it easier to be honest and forthright.
“You can leave, Miss… whatever your name is. Just get the hell out of here. Go,” he demanded as he tried to find the front door.
“It’s a little to your left.” I noted.
He stopped midstride. “Damn, making fun of the visually impaired. You have some brass on you. I’ll give you that.”
I stood. “I didn’t come to pacify you. I came to help. It seems to me you’ve already decided to give up. So I’m going to assume Maxwell Swan is no more.”
His face lit for a brief moment. “You’ve read my work?” He huffed. “Of course you have,” he said, his tone laced with arrogance. “And no, I haven’t quit Maxwell. I’m attempting to assess the situation and go from there.”
I chucked. “Oh, really, and how’s that working for you? Because from what I see, you haven’t done squat to help yourself. You do know you smell like rancid meat,” I announced.
“Well, if you truly want to help, we could start there.”
I snickered, rolling my eyes to no one. “Not a chance, author boy.”
“Afraid of a little dirt?” he asked smugly.
“Google wasn’t clear about you being an ass, but I guess the player part is true. Dirt doesn’t offend me, but Jesus, don’t you realize how you smell? Aren’t your other senses supposed to kick up a gear when you lose one?”
He grinned wickedly. Even without sight, he was still attempting seduction. “Yeah, I know I have a manly aroma, but frankly, the shower terrifies me.”
“What?” I asked shrilly. “You’re afraid of water.”
His left eyebrow arched. “Not too bright, are we? No, I’m not afraid of fucking water, but slipping, losing my balance, applying the wrong shit—that worries me.”
“God, you’re kind of a needy jerk for someone that requires help. Look, I’ll remove everything but what you need for the shower. We’ll figure out some way to identify what products you need to use. At this point, I’d go with any and all you have, because frankly, I won’t be able to work with you without some menthol ointment under my nose. You know you wrote about that in the third book when Maxwell Swan observed an autopsy. Same thing applies here.” I snorted.
“Assistant my ass. My jerk of a brother sent me a wannabe comedian. I may have to put you in my next book and brutally kill you off. What was your name again?”
When I was modeling, I was known simply as Jensyn. I’d never used two names, unless “Perfect 10” counted. Lincoln Bass was too young to even have heard of me. I was off the radar when he was just a kid. “Jensyn. My name is Jensyn Parrish.”
“Pretty name. If you look like you smell, you must be attractive.” His nostrils flared as he flirted.
“Does that line usually work for you?” I asked sarcastically.
He nodded. “Well, yeah, but it has been five months, so I’m out of practice. In all things.”
There was the sexual innuendo again. But this time I felt a quiver in my legs and my pulse slightly quickened. “How about we tackle one of those things right now?”
His smile widened in anticipation. I shook my head. I had a feeling dealing with him was going to be akin to bartering with a horny teenager. Lincoln’s hands swept back his hair as he traced his way to what I assumed was the bathroom. He whipped off his shirt and began pulling down his shorts.
“Whoa, stop that. Do not go any farther. What the hell?” I shouted behind him.
He chuckled with a shrug and turned toward my voice. “I assumed stripping went hand in hand with showering. I mean, there are parts of me that are much dirtier than others.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled. Lucas had no idea what a tool his brother was. “Look, I didn’t come here to check out your genitalia, so put that away.” Even though he couldn’t see, I could, so I turned away. “I’ll go find some towels and figure out how to make cleaning you up safe.”
“Towels are in the hall closet, and I need to shave. You can help me with that, right? You wouldn’t want me to blemish this pretty face.”
My chest tightened as his words sank in. Pretty face. “Perfect 10.” I inhaled a deep breath. He had no idea who I was or what I’d gone through. It was difficult to be mad at someone like him. Even smelly and disgusting, I knew what the real Lincoln Bass looked like underneath, and his behavior got a pardon. I knew how agitated not being in control made you. I had been in his shoes. Hell, I was still in them, but they were no longer Louboutins; now they were flip-flops.
I had no idea how I was supposed to help him when I couldn’t pull myself up. I knew assisting him with his writing was never going to benefit him, only frustrate. I could tell from this single meeting that Lincoln Bass was a boss. Even as fucked up as he came across, this man was accustomed to a chronic routine, and he needed to rule with complete authority. He was going to be a challenge. Maybe I wasn’t ready for such a task.
I walked through the hall and found a cabinet brimming with towels. I grabbed two and padded back to where he stood. He still had on his clothes—thank God—but the snaps on his swim trunks were open. I tried not to stare. It didn’t matter; the man couldn’t tell I was ogling. Raw emotions nipped at my nerves as my eyes settled on his shorts, wondering if the rest of him was as built as his author’s photo portrayed. I sighed silently as I began to fathom the next few months with this man. It had been too long since I’d been around the opposite sex in such a setting. He unnerved me. He made me consider my future and envisage the past.
“Here are the towels,” I announced, setting them in his arms.
I walked over to the shower and peeked inside. Beautiful and luxurious. This would be easy. I snickered, noting the various body washes, scrubs, shampoos, and conditioners. Evidently he liked his bath time. Let’s hope I’ll be able to instill that routine again, for both our sakes. I took out all but three items. I turned toward him, my arms filled with bath products. “I removed everything but three bottles. My God, you had enough crap in there for ten people.”
“Sometimes I do enjoy entertaining,” he replied sarcastically.
“Well, for now, it will be just you, and if you don’t bathe, I guarantee you’ll be a solo act forever. As you step in, the shampoo will be on your left, the body soap on your right, and the conditioner behind you. Your manly puff is hanging on the hook.”
He appeared amused. “You making fun of my buff puff?”
“At least it’s blue. I’ve never seen a straight man with so many hair and skin products.”
“I’m a very progressive guy. I believe in taking care of myself.”
I laughed. “Oh, really? Then you’d better make up for lost time. Because you haven’t been following your routine in, what, I’m guessing a month? I expect you’ll want to stay in there for a couple of hours.”
“Damn, woman, what are you, the hygiene patrol? I promise to clean up, but for the love of God, do not go far. This will become a daily thing as long as you’re standing guard in case I slip and fall.”
“I’ll be around, but you have to get your house in order. I can’t function in a space like this. I get you can’t see, and I’m sorry. Really, I am, but someone has to be honest. I’ll never sugarcoat shit, and I’m going to do what I can to help with your book, but you need to meet me halfway. If you can do that, we have a deal.”
“I had no idea this was a negotiation. I thought you coming here was a favor to my brother. I’m sorry if my appearance, my home, and my disability offend you.”
I was livid. How dare he make me the bad person? I just told him the truth, and he made me feel like shit. “Obviously, this isn’t going to work. You just misconstrued everything I said. You being a douchebag has nothing to do with your disability. I’m sure you’ve always been one.”
He threw back his head and roared in laughter. “Seriously, woman, you are a piece of work, and I suspect you’re also quite a piece. Your scent is driving me nuts. And speaking of nuts, I suppose I’m going to have to apologize.”
I looked at him as though I were expecting him to return my stare. “Apologize for what?”
He spun around as my eyes began to span his body. Holy hell, he was erect. He actually had a hard-on. And it was large and extremely difficult to miss. “You’re on your own with that monstrosity,” I said, backing out slowly.
“Now see, I could view that as a compliment. I can’t even see, but you aroused me nevertheless.”
“Oh please, that probably happens when the surf is high,” I retorted.
He tossed the towels on the floor as he felt for the shower doors. I watched as his hands slid down the fiberglass wall to the faucet. He turned it on, testing the water, adjusting it for temperature. “Sure it wouldn’t be safer if you got in with me?” he taunted.
“I think you can handle yourself just fine.” I closed the door, biting my tongue, realizing what connotation my words had. He chuckled as I heard the rustling of clothes. Several minutes later, after a few swear words, he began to sing.
I strolled into the kitchen. There was box after box of cereal. He must have had fifteen brands. No wonder he’d lost weight. I checked the refrigerator. Cartons of milk. Most were empty or expired, and not one of them had been discarded. I didn’t get his reluctance. He had access to takeout. One phone call and he could have food delivered. It was like a flashback. This had been me thirteen years ago.
I filled the dishwasher with bowls and spoons and wiped down the countertops. I wasn’t used to maintaining a household myself, but I could do this. I bagged the empty boxes and miscellaneous trash, hauling it outside. I opened all the windows and the front door, then searched for a mop. Lincoln had beautiful wood floors that hadn’t seen a good cleaning in months.
An hour later, the bathroom door opened and steam poured out. I choked back a gulp as I surveyed him from top to bottom. I knew he couldn’t see my obvious interest, but could he hear the quickness of my pulse or the increased tempo of my heart? He stood in the center of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and water dripping from his hair. My eyes couldn’t decide what to take in first. His shoulders were broad, his arms muscled flesh. His stomach was flat and rippled with the most delicious six-pack I’d ever seen. Even the weight loss hadn’t hindered his athletic body. He looked thinner but lean and taut, and his figure still represented someone who had led a disciplined lifestyle.
“You going to stand there and gawk or will you shave me? I mean, I can’t blame you. This body is rather a masterpiece.”
My face turned red in embarrassment. “How did you know?” I inquired timidly.
“I heard your breath change. My eyes may suck, but my hearing is excellent. Now, if you think you can maintain your desire for moi”—he waved his hand down his body, then tightened the grip on his towel—“find my razor and have at it.”
He had guessed I was staring. Damn him. I should shave him bald. Make him less attractive.
Who was I kidding? There was no way to make this man hideous.
I touched my own face, wishing. He and I would have been matched in perfection if not for my scars. Well, that and the huge age gap. Cradle robber, cougar. He’d been twelve, barely a teenager, when I had my incident. His appearance and salty vocabulary had me forgetting the difference. It didn’t matter anyway. I was here to help him finish his next book, nothing more.
Then why did I feel the hole in my heart splitting wider? This man had suddenly awakened my sleeping desires. No, those feelings hadn’t been in slumber. I wasn’t a beauty, and Lincoln was definitely no prince. I was gravitating toward a blind man because, without sight, he was safe.