Free Megan Chance by A Heart Divided Page A

at all.
    "Was any of it real?" Her voice was thin and whispery. She saw the quick tightening of his lips, but he didn't turn away.
    "No," he said softly.
    "Not even—"
    "What do you want me to say, Sari?" he asked, and she heard a strange urgency in his voice, as though he'd justified these things to himself many times. "I was what I needed to be, I've told you that."
    "It was all a lie."
    He looked away then, taking a deep breath. "Is anything real? Anyone? Things are never what they seem, you should know that. Yes, I lied to you. I had to." He hesitated, and when he spoke again, his voice was so low, she had to struggle to hear it. "But I wish to God you'd trust me now."
    "Trust you?" She laughed bitterly. "Why? How?"
    His gaze was so intense Sari felt burned. "I'm just Conor Roarke now, Sari. Just myself. No lies. I'm here to protect you. I'm here because I want you again."
    Sari rose, nearly falling over the chair in her haste. She was trembling as she went to the stove, unable to look at him. The words wrapped around her, curled in her stomach. "I want you again. I want you...."
    The memories crashed over her so strongly, she felt heated: She saw his face bent over hers, heard the sweetness of his laughter, felt the soft, wiry feel of the hair on his chest.
    She caught her breath, closed her eyes, but the memories wouldn't fade. She remembered the way his touch rendered her helpless, the way his smile weakened her. It was an attraction that hadn't gone away. Even his betrayal couldn't kill it, and she hated that about him, hated that he was still so hard to resist. She wanted to forget what they'd been to each other, but even if he wasn't Jamie O'Brien any longer, that charm was still there, the memory of passion was still there—
    His hands touched her hips. Sari jumped, cracking her elbow against the coffeepot so that it splashed coffee down her bodice and onto the packed dirt floor. She spun away from him, batting his hands away, backing against the sideboard. "Damn you," she swore softly, wiping at her dress. "Look what you've done!"
    "What I've done?" A slow smile slid over his face. "Why are you so afraid of me, love?"
    Sari's heart was pounding; it was hard to catch her breath. "I'm not afraid of you."
    "No? Then why did you jump?" He took a step toward her.
    Sari tried to back away, but she was trapped against the sideboard. "You—you surprised me."
    "Surprised you?" He moved until he was nearly touching her. "I see. Then you won't be surprised this time."
    He reached out, cupping her chin. The touch was electric. Desperately, Sari jerked away. It was too close, too much like before. She dodged around Conor, so frantic to avoid him that she backed against the stove. The handle of the door jabbed her leg, and Sari flailed for balance, slamming her hand down on the stove, then yanking it away again as the hot metal seared her skin.
    She jerked back against the sideboard. "Damn!"
    "Hell." Conor pulled her to her feet. "What did you do? Let me see." He reached for her hand.
    Sari grabbed it back again. "You've done quite enough."
    "Dammit, Sari, let me see." He wrenched her hand from her side, turning it over to see the reddened swell of a burn rising on her palm. "Where's the grease?"
    Sari nodded toward the can sitting on a shelf. She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel tears. Conor held her wrist as he reached for the can, scooping up a handful of the soft, gray-white mess and spreading it over the burn until her palm shone in the lamplight.
    "There," he said with satisfaction. "Where's a rag?"
    "You don't need to wrap it."
    "Don't tell me what I need to do. Where's a rag?"
    "In the bucket there," she said quietly, pointing to her makeshift sewing basket in the corner of the soddy.
    He left her for a moment to grab the bucket, and Sari's hand felt suddenly cold where his fingers released her. She grasped her wrist, watching him fumble through the pile of old clothing until he came up with a shirt stained yellow