A Kiss in the Dark Read online

  Brittany followed in his wake. So much for the dowager she’d fancied. That deep growl belonged to no dowager; it had been ferociously male.

  What had she gotten herself into? More important, could she tactfully get herself out of it? Otherwise she’d be stuck with someone like her father, and have to read the sports page and stock exchanges. She’d probably be lucky if cigar smoke and horror fiction didn’t figure into the bargain.

  “Sir, your appointment is here,” Dawson said, showing her to the sofa. Then he exited the dark, richly paneled library, pulling the floor-to-ceiling carved doors closed behind him.

  The burgundy leather chair behind the massive desk faced the window, the tall back shielding its occupant from her view. She didn’t know what to expect when the chair swiveled to face her.

  Whatever her feverish imagination could have conjured up would never have included the man who looked back at her.

  For one brief moment before he slipped on a pair of dark glasses, Brittany glimpsed the turbulent emotions on his face. He’d looked utterly lost and alone.

  “You’re Ethan Moss…” she gasped, identifying the art collector, Broadway-play backer, playboy polo player in hushed surprise.

  “You’re a woman!” Ethan accused at the sound of her voice.

  “Of course, I’m a woman,” Brittany declared.

  “Dawson said your name was Brett something… .”

  “You must have misunderstood. It’s Britt. My name is Brittany Astor.”

  There was no reason for him to remember her name. She’d been in love with him forever, but he didn’t know her. Still, it didn’t stop the hurt when he didn’t respond to her name.

  “I don’t want a woman,” he said with a note of finality. He swiveled his chair back to face the window behind his desk, dismissing her.

  “That would be a first,” Brittany found herself saying under her breath.

  “What was that?” He tilted his head to listen.

  “I was merely wondering why you wanted someone to read to you,” she said. “Wouldn’t Dawson do?”

  “Dawson isn’t the reading type.”

  “I am.” Brittany wasn’t going to be dismissed. She wasn’t about to give up easily on what fate had handed her. She fully intended to seize this opportunity to be with Ethan Moss, even if for only one month.

  When he didn’t comment, she grew bolder.

  “What happened? Are you having trouble seeing because of your accident?”

  “Yes. Damned Riley threw me in a knock-in. The pony is all right, and I will be in a month or so. Till then, I’m blind. Damned inconvenient,” he said, rubbing the side of his head.

  Was it true? Brittany wondered. Ethan had said that bit about being blind for a month as if he were trying to convince himself most of all. She’d have to ask Dawson. But she’d have to be careful. At the moment, Ethan didn’t appear to want anyone’s sympathy other than his own.

  “How did you know about the accident?” Ethan asked, on a note of suspicion.

  “You’re a celebrity, of sorts.”

  “How about you, Miss Astor?”

  “I’m not a celebrity. My sister is.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Francesca Astor—the Face of the Nineties.”

  Ethan whistled. “You must be very beautiful.”

  “Is it a requirement?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt….”

  “Then I’m beautiful.” Brittany suddenly realized those dark glasses were on her side.

  “Tell me why I should hire you,” Ethan demanded, swiveling around to face her again.

  “I’m an editor. You won’t find anyone more qualified to read to you.” She barely stopped herself from adding, “And I love you.”

  “I’ll want you to read to me every evening for the next four weeks. Isn’t that going to cut into your social life? Won’t your boyfriend mind?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? I’d sure as hell be upset if my woman were unavailable for an entire month because she was spending her nights reading to a strange man, even if he was blind.”

  “He’s a musician,” Brittany invented. “There won’t be a problem because he’s on tour. He’ll be out of town for the month.”

  “An editor and a musician. Hmm … an unusual combination. Oh, but I forgot, you’re model beautiful. That explains it. We all know rock stars and models are part of the natural order.”

  Brittany didn’t correct her lie. What harm could there be in Ethan’s thinking she was beautiful for the month they would share? “Then you’re saying I have the job?”

  “No, I don’t want a woman.”

  “I’ll sue you for sex discrimination.”

  Ethan sighed. “Why is it that beautiful women are always such a pain? Okay, I’ll make you a deal. Read me something. If I like the way you read, you’re hired. You can’t sue me for not liking the sound of your reading voice.”

  “What do you want me to read?” she asked, still determined to change his mind.

  Ethan shrugged. “You pick something. I don’t know what’s in this library. I rented the place from a friend of my mother’s so I could recuperate in private.”

  Rising, Brittany walked over to the bookshelves, browsing until she found a book that was suitable. Pulling it from the shelf, she returned and sat, leaning her hip against his desk, emboldened because he couldn’t see her.

  She began reading from British author Jilly Cooper’s massive tome, Riders. The gorgeous Rupert Campbell-Black in the story of Olympic equestrian jumping had always been one of her favorite characters, because he reminded her of Ethan.

  She thought of the scrapbook clippings and photos she had collected of Ethan since she was fourteen. There was even one treasured picture of him sweaty after a polo game with his arms thrown around the shoulders of herself and Francesca. Of course, it was Francesca he was looking at.

  She’d only been a schoolgirl at the time, but she’d never gotten over her crush on him. When she was older, there were the elegant parties. She was sure Ethan didn’t remember it, but he’d actually danced with her at her coming-out ball. It was the only thing that had made the excruciating social event bearable. She’d spun out fantasies from that one dance for months.

  For years.

  But when it had come to him asking one of the Astor sisters out, it was Francesca he pursued. Beauty had won out over the Brain. The fact that Francesca turned him down didn’t lessen Brittany’s hurt.

  But she’d gone on with her life. Or so she’d thought. Her relationships with men, however, never seemed to work out. She always found them lacking … something. Now she wondered if she’d been sabotaging herself by subconsciously comparing every man she became involved with to Ethan. It seemed none of them could ever match him.

  Ethan let her read for quite a while before he stopped her. “I guess you thought that was a sure bet, knowing how I feel about horses,” he said, sardonically.

  “I picked it because it’s one of my favorite books,” she responded honestly.

  “Is it?”

  Brittany nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see. “Yes, it is.”

  He ran his hand through his straight blond hair, the action knocking off his glasses. “Damn! I would rather be dead than such a useless wretch. I can’t bear the dark prison I’ve been thrust in. I can’t!”

  Brittany watched his blue eyes as he felt around on the desk for his glasses, which Brittany saw lying on the floor. She was fairly certain Ethan didn’t really need the glasses. They were more likely a prop, a crutch.

  “You’re hired,” he snapped. “See Dawson about the details, unless you’ve qualms about working for a crazy man.”

  Brittany realized he’d just hired her to get rid of her because he was embarrassed about being unable to find his glasses.

  She didn’t stop to pick them up off the floor as she left the room, knowing he wouldn’t thank her for that cour
tesy. He didn’t want her help, even if he did need it.

  No wonder Dawson was cranky.

  And here she was, willingly agreeing to subject herself to Ethan’s frustration and dark moods for the next four weeks.

  It would certainly test her love for him.

  Maybe she would fall out of love with him. Finally.

  THE DOORMAN AT Brittany’s building let her in when she exited the taxi from Ethan’s. Her mind was dizzy from what had happened in the space of the past hour. She didn’t know if it was the elevator making the bottom drop out of her stomach or the fact that she’d be with Ethan for a whole month.

  The phone was ringing as she let herself into her apartment. She threw down her keys and leapt to answer it.

  “You are home. I was beginning to think you were out on a hot date,” her sister Francesca teased.

  “Where are you?” Brittany asked, not having heard from Francesca since she’d left on a photo assignment for the swimsuit issue of a sports magazine.

  “The Côte d’Azur.”

  “Ah, the fabulous life of a model…”

  “Yeah, fabulous. The Nice airport is under construction, the traffic is unbelievable and the stores are always closed when I want to shop.”

  “The Monday flower market, the frankfurters at Voom Voom, not to mention the water-ski instructors at Belles Rives,” Brittany countered.

  “Okay, Britt, so it ain’t so bad,” Francesca agreed on a laugh. “Where were you, anyway? Not working late again, I hope.”

  “I was with Ethan Moss.” Brittany couldn’t help enjoying tossing that tidbit into the conversation, knowing Francesca would pounce on it like a cat.

  “The Ethan Moss! Your Ethan Moss!” Francesca squealed.

  “Don’t get excited. It was strictly business. He needs someone to read to him in the evening.”

  “Britt, little sister, we need to have a talk about come-on lines.”

  “It’s not like that, really. Remember the accident Ethan had?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t his horse Riley throw him during a polo match?”

  “Right. Well, it seems he’s suffering from temporary blindness as a result of the trauma.”

  “Oh, how awful, Britt.”

  “I know. Anyway, I got the job. Who knows, maybe this way I’ll get over him.”

  Francesca laughed. “Britt, baby, working together is how people fall in love.”

  “With models, not editors,” Brittany countered.

  “Tell me that in four weeks, baby sister. Oh, and if you talk to Mom and Dad, tell them to watch for me on the “Fashion Television” show on VH-1 this weekend. The designer line I did is going to be showing. I gotta run. Talk to you later.”

  Brittany hung up the phone, then sank down onto the sofa to collect her thoughts.

  What a difference one little decision could make in a person’s life. If she hadn’t answered the ad in the New York Times, she wouldn’t… Wouldn’t what?

  Did she really think this would turn out to be anything more than a temporary part-time job? Just because she had always been in love with Ethan Moss didn’t mean this brief association had to lead anywhere.

  In a month, her life could return to normal—but would she? Was she risking too much?

  Maybe she should just call Ethan and let him off the hook.

  No. It was time she moved on with her life. She was almost twenty-five years old. She couldn’t go on mooning over Ethan Moss for the rest of her life like some gothic-fiction heroine.

  But it was the nineties. Women went after what they wanted in life. And what she wanted was Ethan Moss; blind, or not.

  Or was his possible blindness attracting her? She was ashamed to admit its appeal. To admit that it tilted the odds in her favor.

  Blind, he believed she was beautiful. Sighted, he would know the truth.

  THE FOLLOWING EVENING the taxi Dawson had sent to collect her crawled through the rain-snarled traffic. In the back seat, Brittany tried to assure herself that tonight would be better than her day had been. Sandy had been right: Lauren Tucker had definitely not been thrilled about the pink flowers all over her cover. Both she and her agent had called.

  From her bag she slipped the small vial of perfume she’d bought on her lunch hour and pushed the day’s problems from her mind. Neither they nor her boss’s bad mood were going to ruin her evening with Ethan. Dabbing the perfume, which had promised to turn her into an irresistible seductress, behind her ears and on her wrists, she cast off the gloomy mood the gray, rainy day had brought.

  When the taxi stopped at Ethan’s residence, she unfurled her umbrella, ignoring the horns of irritated drivers as she made a mad dash across traffic to the entrance. She was successful in getting only a little damp.

  After patting her hair, she let herself in with the key Dawson had given her, calling out to announce her arrival. She’d expected Dawson to greet her, but it was Ethan’s voice that asked her to join him in the library. Leaving her open umbrella on the marble foyer floor to dry, she entered the room, with ten years of romantic expectations.

  “Where—where’s Dawson?” she asked, tongue-tied at his sheer magnetism, which seemed to charge the atmosphere in the close room. She told herself she was merely falling victim to the ions in the air. Rainy days always made the scent of another human musky, provocative. And it wasn’t as though she wasn’t already primed. A harem girl wouldn’t be any more ready than she was in Ethan’s presence.

  “I’ve given him the evenings off since you’re going to be here. You may have noticed he isn’t the world’s most charming butler. He much prefers being with my polo ponies.”

  “I wonder why,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What’s that smell?” Ethan wrinkled his nose.

  Brittany felt herself blush, the warmth creeping up her face. She’d overdone the perfume.

  “I, ah—”

  “I liked the scent of your soap much better. Don’t wear that perfume again.”

  She wanted to flee, or melt into the carpet, or just die. Thank heavens he couldn’t see her embarrassment. What must he think of her? She should have realized his condition would make him more attuned to scents.

  “I tried some perfume on at Bloomingdale’s during my lunch hour,” she lied, trying to save face. “I won’t wear it again.”

  “Good.”

  “What would you like me to read?” she asked, grasping for a distraction. “Should I continue with the Jilly Cooper book?” Brittany rubbed her little finger, trying to keep her escalating case of nerves at bay. She felt like a schoolgirl who’d made a terrible gaffe on her first date with an upperclassman.

  “No. I’d like you to read this play to me.” He shoved the bound manuscript across his desk. “I’m thinking about backing another new play, and this one came to me highly recommended.”

  As she picked up the script, she took the opportunity to study Ethan.

  His appearance was a contradiction. He’d left his white linen shirt unbuttoned, revealing a wide expanse of toned chest decorated with a black cord necklace of small, smooth stones in neutral shades. While the exposure of his bare chest was undeniably sensual, it was a careless sensuality that was an innate part of his unconscious grace.

  The dark glasses hiding his blue eyes were another story. They were worn deliberately to conceal. He was hiding from the world—and from her. If it was true that eyes were the mirror of the soul, then he definitely didn’t want her to see into his.

  When she settled back onto the sofa to begin reading the play, Ethan pushed his swivel chair away from his desk, and rose. “I’ll get us something to drink.”

  “Can I help you?” she asked automatically.

  “No. I’ve familiarized myself with the layout of the rooms. I can get around just fine in my prison without anyone’s help. I hired you to read to me, nothing more. I’m not an invalid. I’m a grown man capable of taking care of myself.”

&n
bsp; Brittany thought he was trying to convince himself more than her, but she said nothing.

  “Do you understand?” he demanded.

  “Yes, of course.”

  The awkward moment was diffused by the ringing of the doorbell.

  “That will be dinner,” he said, heading for the foyer. “I hope you like Chinese.”

  Brittany had to hold herself in place on the sofa to keep from jumping up to assist Ethan as he made his way through the maze of the room. She held her breath as the oatmeal linen fabric of his pleated trousers brushed against a floor lamp, and it wobbled. When he moved to the foyer to answer the door, she let out a whoosh of relief.

  She could hear him talking to the deliveryman as she glanced down at the play, scanning the first page. She heard the door close, and waited expectantly for him to rejoin her.

  “Sonovabitch!” The curse was followed by a loud crash.

  Brittany jumped up, rushing to the foyer.

  Ethan was sprawled on the floor, a look of fury on his face.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, kneeling to help him up. “Here, let me help you.”

  He shoved her hand away. “I think you’ve helped me enough already. What were you thinking, leaving your umbrella in the middle of the foyer for anyone to trip over it!”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think…” She dithered, trying to wipe at his stained shirt.

  “So much for dinner.” Ethan pushed himself up on his feet. “I’m going to change clothes.”

  Feeling along the wall, Ethan made his way to the staircase on one side of the foyer, moving slowly so as not to slip again on the wet floor.

  As he climbed the stairs dripping and scowling, Brittany surveyed the mess her carelessness had wrought. The foyer was a disaster. It looked as though a pair of rambunctious nine-year-olds had engaged in a spirited food fight.

  Ethan must have caught the Victorian table to break his fall. In the process he’d knocked over the vase of peonies. The black-and-white marble floor was slick with water from the overturned vase. Peonies were scattered in colorful disarray, mixed with cashew chicken freed from its containers, making the very picture of an exotic dish. The entire tableau was confettied with white rice.