He turned, and only then did she notice the white cane. Immediately, she wondered how he had gotten here. She glanced out the window but saw no signs of another vehicle in the winding circular driveway.

She guessed he was around her age, middle to late thirties, though she found it hard to determine anyone’s age when she couldn’t see his eyes. His Ray-Ban sunglasses contained particularly dark lenses. She took notice of his designer silk shirt with the open collar, his expensive leather jacket and well-pressed chinos. She caught herself checking to see if everything matched. His features were handsome but sharp, with a chiseled jaw that was much too taut, thin but nicely curved lips and pronounced cheekbones. He had a bit of a widow’s peak, but his dark hair was thick and close cropped.

“I’m Walker Harding,” he said. “Are you the agent I spoke to on the phone?”

“Yes, I’m Tess McGowan.” She offered her hand, then snatched it back quickly, embarrassed, when she realized he couldn’t see it.

He hesitated and slowly removed his hand from his pocket. She noticed how strong and muscular it was as he held it out to her. He was a little off target, his fingers pointed to the side of her. She stepped in closer and shook it. Immediately she felt his large hand swallow hers. The long fingers wrapped all the way around her wrist, surprising her in what felt more like a caress than a handshake. She dismissed the thought and ignored her unexpected discomfort.

“I just arrived,” she said, extracting her hand. “I didn’t get a chance to make a quick run-through,” she explained, wondering how in the world he would know the difference. How was she supposed to show him a house when he couldn’t see a damn thing?

He left her and wandered without a word across the living room, tapping his cane in front of him and walking confidently. He stopped at the bay window that looked out over the backyard. He fumbled for the latch and opened it. Then he stood quietly, staring out as if transfixed by something in the yard.

“The sun feels wonderful,” he finally said, tilting his head back and letting his face be warmed by the brilliant light. “I know it might seem silly, but I like lots of windows.”

“No, it’s not silly at all.” She caught herself talking louder and immediately chastised herself. He was blind not deaf.

Tess studied his profile. The straight nose had a slight bend, and from this angle she could see a scar just below his jawline. She couldn’t help wondering if his blindness had been caused by an accident of some kind. Despite his disability, he seemed to possess confidence. There was a self-assurance in his manner, the way he walked, the way he handled himself. However, his gestures seemed stiff, his hands constantly retreated to his pockets. Was he nervous, anxious?

“How big are the evergreens?” he asked, his voice startling her as though she had forgotten what they were here for.

“Excuse me?”

“I can smell evergreens. Are there a lot and are they big or small?”

She walked up beside him, keeping a safe distance without seeming rude and still being able to look out the window. The property lots here were huge, and the evergreens, mostly cedar and pine, created a natural border at the far edge. She couldn’t smell them. But of course his other senses had probably become more refined.

“They’re very large. Some cedar, some pine. There’s a line of them that separates the properties.”

“Good. I do like my privacy.” He turned to her and smiled. “I hope you’re not uncomfortable having to describe things to me.”

“No, of course not,” Tess said, hoping that she sounded convincing. “Where would you like to start your tour?”

“I was told there is a fabulous master bedroom. Could we start there?”

“Good choice,” she told him. Damn it! She wished she had come earlier. That Peterson asshole better not have left a mess. “Do you prefer walking alone or would you like me to take your arm?”

“You smell quite lovely.”

She stared at him, taken off guard.

“It’s Chanel No. 5, right?”

“Yes, it is.” Was he flirting with her?

“I’ll follow your lovely scent. Just lead the way.”

“Oh, yes. Okay.”

She walked slowly, almost too slowly, causing his outstretched hand to bump into her once on the landing. He let it linger on her hip as though needing to get his bearings. Or at least that was what Tess told herself. She had experienced more outrageous come-ons and intentional gropes than this.

The master bedroom smelled of cleaning formula, and Tess’s eyes darted around. Whoever had been here last had indeed cleaned up. Thankfully, the room looked in order. In fact, it smelled and looked freshly scrubbed. Tess found it odd that Mr. Harding, whose senses had been so keen downstairs, made no comment about these new overpowering scents.

“This room is about thirty by twenty,” she proceeded casually. “There’s another bay window on the south wall that looks out over the backyard. The floor is an oak parquet. There’s a—”

“Excuse me, Ms. McGowan.”

“Please, call me Tess.”

“Tess, of course.” He stopped and smiled. “I hope you won’t find this offensive, but I like to have an idea of what the person I’m talking to looks like. May I touch your face?”

At first she thought she must have heard him wrong. She didn’t know what to say. She remembered his touching her on the landing and now wondered if indeed it had been a grope and not a harmless miscalculation.

“I’m sorry. You’re offended,” he said apologetically, his voice low and soothing.

“No, of course not,” she answered quickly. If she wasn’t careful, her paranoia could lose her the sale. “I’m afraid I’m just not as prepared as I should be to help you.”

“It’s really quite painless,” he told her as though he were explaining a surgical procedure. “I use only my fingertips. I assure you, I won’t be pawing you.” His lips curved into another smile, and Tess felt ridiculous making a fuss.

“Please, go ahead.” She stepped closer, despite her apprehension.

He set the cane aside and started slowly, gently at her hair, using both hands, but only the tips of his fingers. She avoided looking up at him, staring off over his shoulder. His hands smelled faintly of ammonia, or was it simply the overpowering scent of the freshly scrubbed wooden floor? His fingers stroked her forehead and moved over her eyelids.

She tried to ignore their dampness, but glanced at his face for any indication that he was as uncomfortable as she was. No, he seemed calm and composed and his fingers began their descent on either side of her face, sliding down her cheeks. She dismissed what felt like a caress. But then his fingertips moved to her lips. His index finger lingered too long, rubbing back and forth. For a second it felt as though he might press it into her mouth. Startled by the sensation and the thought, Tess looked at his eyes. She tried to see beyond the dark lenses, and when she was successful, getting a glimpse of his black eyes, she saw that he was staring directly at her. Was that possible? No, of course not. She was simply being paranoid, an annoying tendency left over from her past life.

By now his fingers had wandered to her chin, tracing their way down to her neck. They briefly wisped beneath the neckline of her blouse, brushing her collarbone, hesitating as if he was testing her, as if asking how far she would let him go. She began to step back just when he wrapped his fingers around her throat.

“What are you doing?” Tess gasped and grabbed at his large hands.

Now he squeezed, choking her, his eyes definitely staring into hers, a twisted smile at his lips. She clawed at the fingers, steel vise grips clamped like the jaws of a pit bull. She struggled and twisted, but he shoved her back. Her head knocked into the wall with such a force she closed her eyes against the pain. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. God, he was so strong.