Nightingale

  As I moved around unpacking, I sang along. Most people sing only in the shower, but I do it whenever and wherever I can. It really helps me relax. My main guilty pleasure in life is doing a couple of numbers a few times a week at The Blues, the karaoke bar where I’d had my unfortunate run-in with that overcharged amp. As a way to keep me from suing her, Melody Masters, the owner, promised me free admission and drinks for life.

  Cyndi Lauper launched into her classic rendition of “Time After Time,” and I sang along, trying to make my voice, my tone, my pitch match hers. That was one good thing about having superhearing—it gave you a deeper appreciation for music. I’d always loved music, but now I did for another reason entirely—it was the only thing I could listen to really, really loud and not give myself a migraine. Something about the pounding beats soothed away the aches instead of adding to them.

  Cyndi came to the end of the song, and so did I, letting the last note trail off. Claps sounded, and I turned. Talon sat up on the bed, staring in my direction.

  “Wow. You have a beautiful voice. Absolutely amazing.” The superhero smiled. “You should call yourself Nightingale instead of Wren.”

  I just looked at him, with his scarred body, gadget-filled visor, and all-around cool factor. He was a nightingale, a thing of beauty, mystery, and wonderment. I was nothing but a shabby little brown wren—one he’d never look at twice after he left my apartment. I don’t know why that depressed me—but it did.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, trying to make a joke of things. “I think I’m more of a wren. Nobody ever pays much attention to me.”

  “Well, they should,” Talon said in a firm voice. “They really should.”

  I couldn’t stop the fierce longing that swept through my heart at his words.

  Longing for him to keep on noticing me. Now, tomorrow … hell, forever.

  #

  We spent the rest of the day talking about everything—and nothing in particular. The weather, food, books, movies, sports. Small stuff, really. But somehow, it added up to a lot.

  I felt like I could talk to Talon forever. We had so much in common. We were both ardent fans of the Bigtime Barracuda football team. Both wished we had more time to read. Both felt like we worked too hard, but couldn’t seem to stop ourselves.

  Even more important than our similar interests was that I felt like I could talk to the superhero about anything. Bare my soul, my deepest, darkest thoughts to him, and have him be okay with it. That Talon would still like me, no matter what I said or did, what horrors I revealed. That was how I felt about him, I realized. That I would like him, no matter what.

  That I did like him.

  “Come on,” he said after lunch. “Tell me why some guy hasn’t snatched you up already. I’m dying to know.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Oh yes,” Talon said. “Aren’t you tired of talking about sports? We can regale each other with dating disasters. That’s what friends do.”

  “Are we friends?”

  “Well, sure. Don’t you think so?”

  Talon was stretched out on the bed, an arm thrown up over his head, a leg cocked to one side, my old robe just barely covering him. I’d never seen a sexier pose, not even in Piper’s Bigtime’s Sexiest Superheroes calendar, and I was draped over the end of the sofa staring shamelessly at him. I just couldn’t look away. I wouldn’t describe my leering as exactly friendly, but I decided to answer his question anyway.

  “No guy has snatched me up because I don’t exactly advertise myself as being on the market.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve had some bad relationships, including one that ended rather abruptly. I’m not anxious to get dumped again. I suppose I’m gun shy.”

  “Lies,” Talon declared.

  “Lies? How do you figure that?”

  He grinned. “Because I bet you’re gorgeous. A real heart-breaker. You probably have two or three guys on a string, all of them fighting over you.”

  I looked at my reflection in the mirror on the wall. Brown hair, green eyes, cargo pants, flannel shirt. “Gorgeous and I aren’t exactly close friends. As for the guys, well, it’s a nice fantasy.”

  “Oh, come on,” Talon said in a firm voice. “You’re gorgeous inside and out. I know it, and I’m sure other guys do too.”

  Gorgeous. He called me gorgeous again. Nobody ever called me that.

  My heart fluttered, my hands trembled, and I wanted to sing and throw up at the same time. In that moment, in that instant, I realized I felt something for Talon. Something beyond lust at first sight. Something deep. A connection stronger than any I’d ever experienced. It wasn’t sane or logical or rational, but it was there—a feeling I couldn’t deny.

  I wanted to go over to the bed. To touch Talon. To snuggle in the crook of his arm. To run my fingers through his hair (avoiding the damn visor, of course). To press my lips to his. To just let him hold me while we talked. But I couldn’t do it. Images of Ryan and his supermodel flashed through my mind. I just couldn’t take the risk.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Why aren’t you married with three kids?”

  “Gun shy like you, I suppose. Haven’t met the right woman. Bad experiences in the past. Et cetera, et cetera.” His tone was cheerful, flippant even, but I heard a note of longing in it. The same longing that was in my own voice.

  “And the real reason?” I asked, probing deeper.

  Talon hesitated. “Maybe I’m a romantic, but I want the whole story, the fairy tale.”

  “The fairy tale?”

  He shifted on the bed. “You know, the lightning, the magic, the fireworks. The desire to be with someone no matter what. To know this woman is the one for me. That’s what I want. I just haven’t found it yet.”

  Wow. I didn’t know what to say, except to tell the superhero he was every girl’s dream—including mine. My eyes traced over his long legs, his hard chest, his smiling face. I’d like to be the one to share in his lightning, his magic, his fireworks, his everything.

  Talon grinned. “Don’t tell anybody, though. Superheroes aren’t supposed to be hopeless romantics.”

  “Why not? Don’t you know chicks dig romantic guys? Especially if they’re superheroes.”

  He just laughed.

  The more we talked, the more I liked Talon. He was just … fun. Easygoing, carefree, and completely self-deprecating. Talon wasn’t afraid to make fun of himself—or his supposed lowly standing among the superheroes in Bigtime.

  “The Fearless Five rule this town,” he said. “I’m just a second-string superhero, backing them up when they need it. Actually, more like fourth string. Swifte’s the number two guy in town, and I’d say Debonair’s number three, ever since he went over to the good side and started working with the art museum.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” I protested. “I think you’re one of the coolest heroes in the city. Certainly one of the cleverest, with your gadgets.”

  I cringed the moment the words left my mouth. I sounded like I had a fangirl crush on the G-man superhero, which I totally did—but he didn’t need to know.

  Talon grinned instead of seizing upon my fawning statement. “Well then, you need to buy some more of my action figures, because Striker is kicking my ass when it comes to sales.”

  “Well, I’ll rush right out and buy one just as soon as Oodles o’ Stuff reopens,” I promised.

  He nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Now, if you could convince about a hundred thousand of your closest friends to do the same, I might be able to move up to third string.”

  We both laughed.

  Talon also wasn’t afraid to parade through my apartment wearing nothing but my ratty flannel robe and a smile. It must have been drafty in certain areas, but Talon never complained, and he didn’t ask me to trudge out into the snow to get him some decent clothes. Gentleman George, the superhero who paid more attention to his three-piece suits than fighting evil, would have been climbing the walls if his ascot had
been the tiniest bit askew.

  Just being with someone who didn’t expect me to immediately see to his every whim was a refreshing, new experience. I liked it. Scratch that. I loved it.

  Finally we got around to the make-or-break topic—music. Ever since I’d dated Ryan, the polka-loving playboy, I always asked guys about their musical tastes up front. It saved everybody a lot of time because I was not compatible with guys who liked rap, bluegrass, or polka. Shudder. I hadn’t been before my accident gave me superhearing, and I definitely wasn’t now that I could hear every painful note in crystal clarity.

  “So, who’s your favorite band?” I asked.

  “Green Day,” Talon said.

  I liked Green Day too. My heart beat a little faster.

  “The Pretenders are good.”

  I was cool with The Pretenders. So far, so good.

  “And—” He cut himself off.

  “And who else?” My eyes narrowed. “You were going to say somebody else’s name. Whose?”

  Talon turned away. He hadn’t exactly been looking at me anyway; he still couldn’t see, but now, the superhero totally averted his face. “It’s sort of embarrassing …”

  “Come on. Out with it. Who is it?”

  “John Denver,” he mumbled.

  I snickered.

  “Hey, hey,” he admonished. “Quit laughing.”

  “John Denver?” I asked. “You, Talon, the rough and tough superhero who gives bad guys a hard time, likes John Denver? The sensitive, soulful singer-songwriter?”

  “Yeah, I do.” His mouth lifted into a smile. “Besides, chicks dig sensitive stuff. But don’t tell any of the other superheroes. I don’t want to ruin my rep as a bad-ass.”

  I snickered again.

  So, we listened to some Green Day and some Pretenders. I even dug out my CD of John Denver’s greatest hits to appease the superhero’s softer side.

  “Why don’t you sing something?” Talon asked after we’d finished listening to the CD.

  We were sitting side by side on the couch now.

  “I don’t know,” I said, fidgeting. “I don’t really sing for other people, unless I’m drunk enough to do karaoke.”

  “You were singing before when you thought I was asleep. What was that song?” he asked.

  “‘Time After Time’ by Cyndi Lauper.”

  “Sing that.” Talon grabbed my hand and turned his head in my direction. “Please, Wren. For me?”

  I stared at him, looking at his visor-covered face and scarred body that was more than a little visible beneath my robe. I wished I could have seen his eyes, seen what was in them, seen how he was really looking at me. Because I knew how I was staring at him—with my heart and with all these new feelings he stirred in me painted on my face.

  “All right.”

  Against my better judgment, I sang it for him, once with the CD turned down low and once a capella.

  “Wow!” Talon said when I finished. “Whatever it is you do, you should quit your day job and be a singer. You have a tremendous voice, Wren.”

  “Thank you,” I said, glad the superhero couldn’t see how impossibly red my cheeks were.

  “No,” he said. “Thank you. That was a musical treat.”

  He grabbed my hand and squeezed, his rough, calloused fingers dwarfing my own.

  I squeezed back. This time, I didn’t let go.

  #

  That afternoon, I made a dinner of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Not the most glamorous or complicated of meals, but it was warm, filling, and soothing—just like being with Talon.

  Afterward, the superhero and I sat together on the couch. SNN droned on in the background as Kelly Caleb did another story from Paradise Park. To my surprise, the power had stayed on, despite the wet, heavy snow blanketing the lines outside.

  “You know, this has been the most relaxing day I’ve had in a long time,” I said, sighing and sinking lower into the sofa.

  “Really?” Talon said. “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t get much time off from work, but it’s my own fault. I’m a raging perfectionist.”

  “What kind of business are you in?” Talon said.

  “No details,” I chided. “Remember?”

  “Of course,” he said. “But let me help you relax a little more. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”

  Before I could ask what he was up to, Talon reached over and fumbled around until he laid his hand on my neck. His hard, warm fingertips sank into my skin, gently kneading.

  “Why are you doing that?”

  “Because you’ve been cracking your neck all day,” Talon said.

  He kept right on massaging, his fingers pressing on the vertebrae in my neck. I sighed and leaned into his touch like a puppy. If I had a tail, it would’ve been thumping a hundred times a minute. My neck cracked in the most wonderful way, my bones popping from top to bottom. Pleasant tingles flooded my body, traveling from my spine into my arms and legs.

  “You really are tense,” he murmured.

  Talon’s hand slid lower, and he pressed his thumbs deep into the muscles of my back, loosening, soothing away my knots. I sighed in pleasure again, and Talon kept right on massaging me with his good arm.

  I blinked. He’d stopped for some reason. I turned my head, and there he was next to me. I’d been so entranced by the massage I hadn’t even felt him move closer.

  “Nightingale,” Talon whispered.

  I opened my mouth to tell him my name was Wren, but I stopped. Instead, I lifted my fingers up to his face, laying my palm against his cheek. Stubble darkened his chin, and his sharp whiskers bristled against my sensitive skin. But I didn’t mind the rough, prickly sensation. All I could think about was touching my lips to his, of giving in to these feelings, this rush of emotions I felt for the superhero.

  So I did. And it was—perfect.

  The kiss was perfect. Not because I’d planned or plotted or even imagined it—it just was.

  Talon responded with just as much feeling. Maybe more, because he didn’t stop there. He wasn’t content to just steal a sweet kiss. Evidently, there were some things a man could do even when he’d been shot and temporarily blinded. Like put his hands up a woman’s shirt.

  He pushed aside my long, loose, flannel shirt with no problem or fumbling of any kind. My silk camisole confused him for a moment before he managed to slide his hand up under the band that bound my breasts. His fingers closed over my nipple, and I almost bucked off the sofa, the sensation was so strong.

  “Do you like that?” Talon whispered, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers.

  Like it? If he kept doing that, I was going to have an orgasm right then. I shuddered and tried to get a grip on the tingles racing through my body—tingles that turned into surges of hot, electric pleasure.

  Talon pressed his lips to mine again. I grabbed his head with my hands and opened my mouth, my tongue meeting his. Somehow, despite the soup we’d had earlier, the man still tasted like spearmint, which was rapidly becoming my favorite flavor ever.

  “I know this is crazy, that we don’t even really know each other. But I want you, Nightingale,” he whispered against my lips. “I want you so much. You make me smile and laugh and just feel.”

  I wanted him too. More than I’d wanted anyone in a long time. Ever, really. And I wasn’t going to deny myself this. Not tonight. But I had to ask him one question first.

  “Are you sure you’re up to it?” I rasped. “Your shoulder—”

  “Is feeling much, much better now. Let me show you what I can do with my hands,” Talon teased, his fingers closing over my breasts and massaging them just as he’d done to my neck a few moments earlier. “See? I’m perfectly fine now.”

  If I should be a singer, then Talon needed to open up his own massage parlor. A whole chain of them. The man was that good.

  “Then, hold on a minute,” I said.

  I scrambled away from him, crawling toward my vest,
which I’d thrown on the floor in front of the TV last night. I yanked open one of the zippers and drew out a condom. Always prepared, that was me. I took birth control pills already, but it never hurt to have extra protection. Besides, you wouldn’t believe how many times I’d had bridesmaids and other members of a wedding party come up to me and ask if I had any condoms they could have. So I’d taken to carrying them with me at every wedding—one for each bridesmaid and groomsman in attendance. It wasn’t just limited to weddings. Recitals. Business conferences. Potluck dinners. I’d even had a soccer mom corner me at her kid’s birthday party because she was getting back together with her ex—at least for the afternoon.

  “What are you doing?” Talon asked.

  “Getting a condom.”

  “Good idea,” he said in a light, easy tone. “We’ll get to that in a few minutes.”

  “And what are we going to do in the meantime?” I teased.

  Talon stood, opened the robe he was wearing, and let it fall to the floor. Then, he put his hands on his hips and struck a pose that even showboat Swifte would have had a hard time copying. “I have some ideas,” he said.

  My eyes trailed down his body, stopping at his erection. “It certainly looks like you do.”

  “First things first,” Talon said, holding out his hand.

  I gave him the condom, and he tore open the packet and slipped it on. Evidently, that was something else a blind man could do quite easily. When Talon finished, I moved back into his arms. I thought about kissing him or running my hands up and down his chest. Instead, I just stood there. Hesitating. Truth be told, when I stopped to think about it, I always felt a little awkward and self-conscious during sex, because it was one of the rare times when a man’s attention was focused squarely on me. And Talon was right. This was crazy, insane really. Lust at first sight gone out of control.

  Talon didn’t kiss me or try to undress me. Instead, he just stood there, running his hands up and down my body. His touch was light, surprisingly so, given how rough his hands were, but every soft fingertip he trailed up my shoulder and down my chest burned into my skin, making me ache inside. Overpowering all my awkward fears and doubts.