Books by Tamie Dearen
To my grandfather and my grandson, who taught me that we see each other with our hearts, not our eyes.
FOREWORD
Glaucoma took my grandfather’s eyes by the time he was forty years old. He never saw my face, but we were the best of friends. I used to get up before sunrise so we could drink hot tea together on the back porch of their tiny farmhouse. I followed him around as he fed hay to the cows and collected the chicken eggs. In the eyes of a ten-year-old girl, there was nothing he couldn’t do. He wielded a saw and a hammer to build new outbuildings on their property. He killed chicken snakes with his bare hands. He knew every cow by touch. That he could do these things without the benefit of sight never seemed anything but ordinary to me.
And so, when our blind grandson was added to the family, my expectations for him were high. Yet, he is even more amazing than my grandfather. He is fluent in three languages, and he can read and write Braille in multiple languages as well. He has read more books (mostly audiobooks) than I have. He leaps fearlessly from cliffs, trusting only our word that there is water below. You should hear him play the drums in the school jazz band!
When I told him I was going to write a romance book with a blind hero, he asked me why. I explained I wanted to show that people are basically the same, whether or not they have the benefit of vision. He agreed to talk with me and give me advice about my character. The most remarkable thing about that conversation was not the insights he shared, but the fact that a fifteen-year-old boy took the time to chat with his grandmother about her writing. Once again, he taught me that what makes him special is not his disability, but his heart.
I hope you feel the same way about Branson...
CHAPTER 1
Stephanie Caldwell winced at her reflection in the mirror, snatching a tissue to wipe the smeared mascara from under her eyes. She wasn’t about to let anyone know she was bothered by the announcement her boss just made. No one else had been surprised. Why was she? She knew from the start there could never be any kind of relationship between her and Branson Knight.
I’m twenty-nine… too old to have a silly school-girl crush.
A few wispy brown curls escaped her bun, the only adornment of her neck. She hadn’t worn her typical costume jewelry, knowing the other female guests would be sporting genuine diamonds.
The jiggling doorknob, followed by a few sharp knocks, jerked her back into reality. There had to be a dozen bathrooms in Bran’s mansion. Why did someone need to use this one, in the far back corner of his darkened private library? Most people didn’t even know it existed.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she called, hoping whoever it was would simply go to another empty restroom. A glance in the mirror revealed red-rimmed eyes and a matching red nose. Maybe she could explain it away as an allergy attack.
The doorknob rattled again. “Stephanie?”
Bran’s voice. She laid her hand over her chest as her heart performed a haphazard flip. Just her luck—the one man she most wanted to avoid at the moment.
“Yeah. Sorry, boss.” She forced a relaxed tone. How could she explain why she’d chosen his private restroom, hoping to hide away until she pulled herself together? “The hall bathroom was taken, so I didn’t think you’d mind. But I’m coming out, now.”
She turned out the bathroom light and whipped the door open, planning to slide past him and escape, but his imposing form blocked her exit, silhouetted by the dim moonlight trickling through the library window. He towered over her, though her three-inch pumps boosted her to a respectable five feet seven. She hated the way her chest clenched so close to him, glad for the moment she couldn’t see how enticing he looked in a tuxedo. But he was one of those guys who looked hot in anything he wore, whether he was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, with his muscles stretching the thin fabric, or draped in an expensive designer suit.
“I was looking for you. I sent a text.”
“Sorry. I had my phone on silent during the party.” She hoped he couldn’t tell from the wobble in her voice she’d been crying. “Technically, I’m not working tonight.”
Her boss was driven and would probably work around the clock if he could. He even dictated to her while he was exercising in his private gym, not that she minded the scenery.
She must’ve done a poor job of hiding her frustration because his voice went contrite. “I’m sorry, Stephanie. I wanted your take on the reactions when I made the merger announcement. I should’ve warned you ahead of time, so you’d notice the details. Were you watching?”
Her stomach fell into her gut as she realized why she’d been invited in the first place. She’d been so thrilled to find her name on the exclusive guest list for the annual spring gala, thinking he was finally beginning to see her as more than an employee. He’d even insisted she buy a new dress at his expense. She’d purchased the exquisite designer gown with growing excitement, especially when he asked her to describe it to him in detail and suggested she come early to the party. For a few days, she’d allowed herself to believe the fairy tale might come true. Hoping Branson Knight was actually interested in dating her.
She’d swallowed her lumpy pride when she arrived, only to be greeted by Bran’s girlfriend, who looked her over as if her clothes had come from the refuse pile. Carina was one of those girls—beautiful, rich and successful. No doubt she’d been homecoming queen, head cheerleader, class president, and valedictorian. Only the remembered words of Steph’s MawMaw kept her from creating a Carina voodoo doll and sticking it with pins. “Now Stephanie… don’t judge people. Every mean person has a sad secret hidden inside.”
But it wasn’t Carina’s snobby attitude that had hurt Steph’s feelings. What tore her apart was recognizing the obvious truth. Bran wasn’t interested in her. He simply wanted her to be his “spy.” The new dress was only part of her disguise, because Branson assumed, correctly, she had nothing in her closet that would allow her to blend in with the other, affluent guests. As usual, with Bran, it was strictly business.
“I was watching. I paid attention, even though I didn’t realize I was still on the clock.” More perturbed by the second, she couldn’t resist a dig. “But which merger announcement were you referring to? Your takeover of Reston Incorporated? Or your engagement to Carina Parker?”
He seemed to wince, though the moonlight didn’t illuminate his face clearly. She didn’t need to see him. She knew his face by heart, from the arch of his brows to the angle of his carved jaw, which was smooth-shaven tonight, though his customary style sported a slight beard, one she thought made him look even more rugged and masculine.
“The business announcement, of course. My engagement isn’t important.”
“Not important? You’re getting married, and you don’t think that’s going to impact your life?”
His hand came up and pushed through his dark hair, leaving the ends sticking up like pieces of straw in his shadowed silhouette. She almost reached up to smooth them, but caught herself at the last second.
His head was shaking slowly back and forth. “The marriage will be mutually beneficial to both of us. Living together won’t change anything.”
He spoke as if it were a business transaction. Her next words spilled out before she could stop them. “Wouldn’t it be cheaper to hire someone by the hour?”
When she saw him stiffen, the hair stood up on the back of her neck. This time she’d gone too far.
“Perhaps you’re right, Ms. Caldwell.” He spoke as calmly as if he were reciting a grocery list. “Were you volunteering for the job? What are your hourly rates?”
All the oxygen rushed out of the room, leaving her so lightheaded she had to grab the doorframe to stay upright. Her chin lifted as she glared at him, ineffectually. “You couldn’t afford me, Mr. Knight.” Gaining her composure, she tried to push past him.
“Wait.” Her arm was in his iron grip, as he bent down to mutter in her ear, his breath sending electric impulses rippling down her spine. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Please forgive me.”
“No apology necessary.” She jerked at his unrelenting grasp. “I was out of line. It’s none of my business.”
“I should’ve told you about the engagement.”
Dagnabbit… he sounded repentant. She grasped at her anger, catching it before it disappeared.
“Why didn’t you?” Another tug of her arm produced no results.
