Blind Promises. Diana Palmer

problem?” she asked, doing her impression of a Viennese psychiatrist.

      He chuckled at the mock accent. “My temper isn’t my problem. It’s the way people react to it.”

      “Oh, you mean those embarrassing things they do, like diving under heavy furniture and running for the hills when you walk through the door?”

      “Such a sweet voice to be so sarcastic,” he chided. His hand suddenly slid down and caught hers, holding it even when she instinctively jerked back. “No, no, Nurse; you’re suppose to be guiding me, aren’t you? Soft little hand, and strong for one so small.”

      “Yours is enormous,” she replied. The feel of those strong, warm fingers was doing something odd to her breathing, to her balance. She wanted to pull free, but he was strong.

      “A legacy from my Dutch father,” he told her. “He was a big man.”

      “You aren’t exactly a dwarf yourself,” she mused.

      He chuckled softly at that comment. “I stand six foot three in my socks.”

      “Did you ever play basketball?” she asked conversationally.

      “No. I hated it. I didn’t care for group sports so much, you see. I liked to ski, and I liked fast cars. Racing. I went to Europe every year for the Grand Prix. Until this year,” he added coldly. “I will never go again, now.”

      “You have to stop thinking of your blindness as permanent,” she said quietly.

      “Has my mother handed you that fairy tale, too, about the blindness being hysterical?” he demanded. He stopped to face her, his hands moving up to find her upper arms. “Do I seem to you to be prone to hysterics, Nurse?”

      “It has nothing to do with that, Mr. van der Vere, as I’m sure your doctor explained to you. It was simply a great shock to the optic nerve….”

      “I am blind,” he said, each word cutting and deliberate. “That is not hysteria; it is a fact. I am blind!”

      “Yes, temporarily.” She stood passively in his bruising grasp, watching his scowling face intently, determined not to show fear. She sensed that he might like that, making her afraid. “It isn’t unheard of for the brain to play tricks on us, you know. You saw the splinters coming straight for your eyes, and you were knocked unconscious. It’s possible that your…”

      “It is not possible,” he said curtly, and his grip increased until she gasped. “The blindness occurred because I hit my head. The doctors simply have not found the problem. They invent this hysterical paralysis to spare their own egos!”

      It wasn’t possible to reason with a brick wall, she told herself. “Mr. van der Vere, you’re hurting me,” she said quietly.

      All at once, his hands relaxed, although they still held her. He smoothed the soft flesh of her arms through the thin sleeves of her white uniform. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. Do you bruise easily, Miss Steele, despite your metallic name?”

      “Yes, sir, I do,” she admitted. He was standing quite close, and the warmth of his body and its clean scent were making her feel weak in the knees. She was looking straight up at him, and she liked the strength of his face, with its formidable nose and jutting brow and glittering gray eyes.

      For just an instant his hands smoothed slowly, sensuously, up and down her arms. His breath quickened. “How old are you?” he asked suddenly.

      “I’m twenty-four,” she said breathlessly.

      “Do you know how old I am?” he asked.

      She shook her head before she realized that he couldn’t see the motion. “No.”

      “I’m thirty-seven. Nearly thirteen years your senior.”

      “Don’t let that worry you, sir. I’ve had geriatrics training,” she managed to say pertly.

      The hard lines in his face relaxed. He smiled, genuinely, for the first time since she’d been around him. It changed his whole face, and she began to realize the kind of charm such a man might be able to effect.

      “Have you, Saint Joan?” he murmured. He chuckled. “Have you ever been married?”

      “No, sir,” she said, aware of the primness of her own soft voice.

      His head tilted up and an eyebrow arched. “No opportunities?” he murmured.

      She flushed. “As you accused me, Mr. van der Vere, I’m rather prudish in my outlook. I don’t feel superior, I just don’t believe in shallow relationships. That isn’t a popular viewpoint these days.”

      “In other words you said no and the word got around, is that what you mean, miss?” he asked quietly.

      It was so near the truth that she gaped up at him. “Well, yes,” she blurted out.

      He only nodded. “Virtue is a lonely companion, is it not?” he murmured. He let go of her arms, and before she realized what he was doing, he framed her face with his big, warm hands. “I want to know the shape of your face. Don’t panic,” he said.