Sunsets & Seduction. Tawny Weber

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      “If you came here for more, forget it. I’d rather you don’t use me as a way to make that point to him.”

      “What’s between us has nothing to do with my father,” she said, frustrated.

      “There is no us.”

      “There could be.”

      “Not gonna happen,” he insisted stubbornly.

      Tessa stepped back, stinging at his rejection, but refusing to accept that there wasn’t anything between them.

      “Well, in case you decide to change your mind, you know where I am. But I wouldn’t wait forever, Jonas.”

      She walked out, and he didn’t say another word.

       2

       3:00 p.m.

      THE NURSE IN his ophthalmologist’s office had bumped against Jonas four times while showing him down the hall to the office, and then again in the office itself. She sounded cute and smelled nice, like jasmine and vanilla. She was also stacked, from what he could tell when she leaned past him as she’d opened the door.

      As the door opened and the doctor came in, she leaned close and pushed a piece of paper into his hand, whispering, “Call me. Let’s have a drink sometime. I can show you some tips for getting around without your sight.”

      “I’ll bet you can,” he’d said with a chuckle, but in truth it left him completely cold. All he could think of was Tessa, and cursed her again for her earlier visit.

      He didn’t even know how she’d gotten his address, but he supposed a senator’s daughter had good resources. It paid to know people in powerful places—until you pissed them off.

      “Hey, Doc,” he said to Dr. Matt Sanders, his eye specialist, whom he’d known in the Philadelphia business community and their basketball league for some time, though never as a patient.

      “Jonas,” Matt acknowledged from somewhere to the right and stepped in closer. “I hope you don’t intend on answering my nurse’s invitation,” he said lightly, lifting one of Jonas’s eyelids to look.

      Jonas didn’t pull back anymore, having gotten used to the closeness, as well as the poking and prodding around his eyes.

      “Do you see anything? Flickers, shadows, flashes?” Doc Sanders asked.

      “Nope, nothing,” Jonas said, trying to keep his voice level. “Why shouldn’t I call her?”

      Matt chuckled lightly. “She’s trying to make me jealous. That’s why she waited until I was in here to slip you that note. Probably nothing written on it.”

      “I see. You two are—”

      “Jury is still out,” Matt said.

      “So how does it look?”

      “I’ll probably ask her out, see how work mixes with pleasure. I don’t want to lose her as my nurse. She’s very good.”

      “I meant my eyes,” Jonas said dryly. “No worries, Matt. About your nurse, I mean. I’m not interested in getting involved with anyone right now,” he said. “She’s all yours.”

      “Gee, thanks,” the doctor replied, poking at Jonas some more, going back and forth between shuffling papers and checking his eyes.

      “Any headaches? Nausea?”

      “Nothing notable.”

      “Okay, well, it’s looking much better. The swelling is almost completely gone, but it’s the bruising that’s probably causing the ongoing problem. That can take some time. If there’s no progress in a few weeks, we’ll run more tests, see what’s up.”

      Jonas sat perfectly still, but his hands turned cold. Matt’s voice was so neutral, that particular doctor tone that tried not to upset patients, but just made you all the more paranoid. Not that it took much these days.

      “Do you mean this could be permanent?”

      “No. Really, Jon, if I thought there was a serious possibility of that, I’d tell you straight up,” Matt reassured, and Jonas breathed again when the doctor put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

      Jonas wasn’t a particularly touchy-feely sort of guy. He and his brothers all had their ways of sharing physical contact—including fighting—and his family was probably more or less as affectionate as most. But since losing his sight, touch had taken on a completely new meaning. He welcomed it, and at some particularly dark moments, even craved it.

      Matt continued, “The nervous system is delicate and unpredictable, and everyone takes their own time to heal. Your brain will let you know when it’s ready to let your eyes work again. Give it a few more weeks, and if you aren’t back to at least partial vision—and it’s very likely you will be—then we’ll figure it out, okay? Be patient. That guy nearly cracked your skull open. This could have been much, much worse.”

      Jonas nodded, grabbing on to the “very likely” bit with both hands. He’d always considered himself a patient guy until recently. First Tessa and now his eyesight had proven differently.

      “All right, Doc,” he said, standing and running his hand along the wall to the door. “I’ll wait and see.”

      “You take care, Jonas. Let me know right away if there are any changes. Make another appointment for a check in two weeks on the way out.”

      “Will do.” He found the knob and opened the door. “Doc?”

      “Yes?”

      “Your nurse. She’s getting impatient.”

      “What makes you think that?”

      He rubbed his fingers over the paper in his pocket. “There is writing on the paper. I can make out at least three numbers,” he said, handing the doctor the note and leaving Matt to think about that as he made his way out to where his brother Garrett waited for him in the lobby.

      “What’s the verdict?” Garrett asked. Jonas could hear the worry riding under his casual tone as they made their way out to the car after Jonas made his follow-up appointment.

      “Same. Everything looks fine. It just takes time. Hopefully things will start working again within a few weeks, or they’ll do more tests to see why not.”

      “Damn. Well, we have to stay positive. Things could change at any moment.”

      “Yeah, no reason to think otherwise, for now.” It was easier to say it than to believe it.

      “Smart man.”

      “Smarter than you,” Jonas joked, delivering a solid, friendly punch to his brother’s upper arm, nodding in satisfaction as he felt the solid muscle of Garrett’s tricep under his fist.

      “Pretty good aim for a blind guy,” Garrett joked.

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