I’m still . . . me. I’ve just learned how to interpret the world around me differently.
Every person had a voice, whether or not she could remember how that individual had sounded before, or even if she’d never met them before she’d lost her hearing. As she watched a person speak or sign, she could hear that unique voice, a sound in her head and a feeling she identified with a certain individual.
She rinsed her hair leisurely, glad that summer was finally over. The restaurant that she owned with her brother, Liam, would be slower, but she looked forward to the less frantic pace of the fall in Amesport. Labor Day had just passed, and the atmosphere of the Maine coastal town would change from one of tourist madness back to the small, friendly town she adored. Summer was fun, crazy, and frantic from all the visitors; fall was a season that most of the locals loved because many of the tourists had gone home.
The house still hasn’t sold.
Selfishly, she was glad that Randi’s old home hadn’t sold over the summer, though she felt guilty for having those thoughts. Her friend needed to eventually sell her house, even though she’d married a billionaire. In the meantime, Tessa was enjoying the solitude of playing caretaker for the small, single-family ranch home on a few acres of property outside of town. It gave her some much-needed space from Liam, her protective sibling and business partner.
I’m going to need to talk to Liam . . . again.
She’d gone deaf over six years ago, but her brother still treated her like she was delicate, fragile. He blamed himself for her lack of hearing, even though it had been far from his fault. He seemed determined to keep her safe, but his machinations went way too far. Tessa felt suffocated. She was twenty-seven, far too old to need a babysitter. She knew Liam meant well, but he was going to have to let her go eventually. He’d given up enough to take care of her, stay supportively by her side for so many years. It was time for him to live his own life again, and way past time for her to take control of her own.
The water turned off soundlessly as she pushed the handle and stood in the enclosure for a moment to wring out her hair. As she stepped out, Tessa reached for the clean towel she’d tossed on the hamper next to the shower, only to find that it wasn’t there.
A shriek of startled fear left her mouth as she turned and saw a very large, very male hand holding out the missing sky-blue towel. Her eyes flew to his face as she screamed, recognizing the intruder.
“Oh, my God. What in the hell are you doing here?” she asked Micah Sinclair as he slowly released his grip on the towel when she reached for it shakily, not bothering to hide the heat in his dark-brown eyes as he stared shamelessly at her nude body. Finally, she jerked on the material hard, freeing the towel from his reluctantly loose grip.
A fiery blush flooded her face and body as she quickly wrapped it around her, wishing she’d grabbed one of the larger, fluffier ones in the closet for her shower, but she didn’t want to use Randi’s nicer stuff. As it was, the threadbare cotton piece of linen she’d chosen barely covered her ass and other private areas she didn’t want exposed. She had no choice but to look at Micah—even though she was mortified—if she wanted to know his response.
His eyes were both hungry and mischievous, a combination that was nearly irresistible.
“I could ask you the same.” He answered slowly, signing with American Sign Language—ASL for short—as he spoke. “Not that I mind. Now we’ve both seen the other one naked.”
Deep, silky smooth, and sinful. That was how she heard Micah’s voice. She had since the minute she’d met him.
Tessa was good at reading lips, but she found it much easier with people she knew well. Although Micah wasn’t exactly a stranger, she’d always been able to understand him, for some reason. She’d been able to pick up the majority of his words from their very first encounter, which had been in a very similarly embarrassing way—except he had been the one standing in a bathroom naked, a tantalizing sight that Tessa had never been able to erase from her brain—no matter how much she tried. “I’m caretaking the house,” she told him hastily, trying to pull the towel more snugly around her body. “I moved in several months ago. After Evan and Randi’s wedding. What are you doing here?”
She shivered, but she wasn’t really cold. The warmth in Micah’s eyes was enough to heat the small home for an entire Maine winter. But there was something about him that looked . . . different.
Micah Sinclair was usually cocky, a trait that the Sinclair men shared. Not rude, exactly, but Tessa was starting to think it was a behavior that every Sinclair male had acquired at birth. Every one of them exuded almost an obnoxious confidence that could also be perceived as arrogant.
Silently, her eyes moved over him, taking in every detail. He was dressed casually in a pair of jeans that had softened and faded with age, and hugged his body lovingly. The T-shirt he was wearing probably dated back to his college days, the blue fabric sporting the logo of an Ivy League school. It wasn’t his clothing that seemed . . . off; it was something else that seemed different. It wasn’t strange to see him in comfortable clothing. Other than his formal dress for Evan’s wedding and Hope’s winter party, Tessa had noticed that he wasn’t a fancy dresser, even though he was no less wealthy than his brothers or cousins.
Usually, he appeared to be a rugged, outdoorsy kind of guy. Probably because that was exactly what he was: an extreme-sports mogul. But today he wasn’t exuding the same barely containable energy he usually did.