Blindside by Jayden Alexander

arm to thrust her cape at her, the action a sharp jolt.
    Lana pressed the wadded fabric against her wound and used the sting of pain to keep herself focused. He knew—the thought was a sharp thrill. “I just told you, I cut myself.” Sunshades in place, she walked toward the street, knowing he followed right behind her, his presence as much a threat as comfort, the passing car lights quick and vicious jolts of pain.
    “You looked damned good in leather.”
    That silk whip of a phrase sent chills down on her spine, and Lana clenched her thighs against the rough seductive onslaught. Just like her cape, the leather outfit was practical as much as vain. No fibers for the cops, and no need to worry about seep-through bloodstains or bulky layers to hinder her movements. And the invalid part of her wanted to look hot.
    Yeah, you’ve succeeded . “Why are you here, Mac?” She hadn’t meant for her voice to come out breathy. Instead she focused on her steps, putting one foot in front of the other on the wet concrete, occasionally glancing up despite the pain.
    “Have dinner with me. A drink. A cup of coffee.” A plea and a velvet demand. The words stopped her in her tracks despite the people swarming around her, pushing her sideways. His hand steadied the non-injured elbow, keeping her safe in the crowd.
    His touch fell away and Lana resumed walking, knees weak, shame and a secret thrill buried in her heart. “A little late to ask me out, don’t you think?”
    He walked alongside her, no longer touching, and yet his presence offered some comfort. “I want to help you, Lana. I know exactly how you feel.”
    She forced a bright and vicious smile. “Do you? Do you really?”
    A crush of fingers through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry. About you, about Nicky—”
    Arousal withered and died under her brother’s name. “Nothing to be sorry about.”
    The eight o’clock crowd streamed through and around them, boots and sneakers slopping the mist and rippling the lights reflecting in the puddles.
    “I am sorry .”
    “I never blamed you.” The truth stuck in her throat like a fist clenching raw tears.
    “I blame me. And I have to live with that.” He crossed his hands over his chest. “Why are you doing this?”
    The game had gone too long to keep pretending. “Maybe I get off playing hero.”
    This time, the hand clutching her arm wasn’t nearly as gentle. He pulled them both out of the stream of people, into a small alcove at the entrance of The Red Sage café. She could see more of him in the shadows, the hard eyes, the grim expression. The passing cars lit up his face with harsh streaks of gold.
    “Being a hero is about saving innocents. It’s not about judging. You’re a cop, you know all this.”
    She laughed at that. “I haven’t been a cop for the last three years. Before then, I didn’t last a year on the street.”
    “Doesn’t change what you are.” Once more, he pushed a hand through short black hair. “I keep dreaming about that night. The smell, the screams. The fire. I prayed I’d get there in time.” He shook his head as if pushing away the razor sharp emotion. “I didn’t.”
    “I’m alive, Mac.” She sharpened her voice. “You saved me. I blamed myself for Nicky’s death for a long time but, I swear, I never blamed you for anything.”
    “You should have.” His ravaged voice floated over the crowd surging past them, pushing her closer to him while his gaze focused in the past. “I sent shields to you. And you absorbed them. That only happens to those of my kind.”
    “Better alive and blind then burned and dead.” A lame attempt at humor, because the real question charred her throat. She’d wondered how and why it happened, for a long time considering his gift a curse. “I’m not one of your kind.”
    His mouth stretched into a bitter smile. “You were adopted.”
    “So?” Another shower of chills sparkled down her back. “What does that have to do with anything?”
    A