Free Megan Chance by A Heart Divided Page B

from use, with a ragged tear across the back.
    Conor ripped off a strip of fabric. "Come here. Sit down."
    Sari's palm was beginning to burn in earnest, and she did as he instructed without protest. He pulled up a chair beside her, resting her hand on his thigh as he expertly wound the bandage around her palm.
    There it was again, that tenderness. Her stomach cramped suddenly; the warm room was stifling. Sari took a deep breath, feeling a curious languor come over her as Conor wrapped the linen strip once, twice, three times over her palm and wrist. She glanced up, away from the sight of her hand nestled in his, hoping a view of the ceiling would help her control her unsteady breathing. But her gaze caught, locking onto the buttons of his collarless shirt. They'd come loose as he moved, revealing the jutting of his collarbone, the fine, dark hair that started at the base of his throat.
    She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it firmly, finally looking up as he knotted the ends of the bandage. His eyes were caressing, serious now as he studied her expression.
    "There," he said gently. Was it her imagination, or did his voice seem deeper? Hoarser? "You should be fine now."
    "Thank you." It took all her will to force the words out.
    "Does it still hurt?"
    "Yes."
    He leaned closer. "Is there anything I can do to make it feel better?"
    Yes. Oh yes, there was. Sari felt her eyes closing despite herself, felt herself moving forward, caught in that heady spell of desire and yearning. Just one more inch. One inch would be all it would take to send her crashing into his arms—
    She jerked back, her eyes flying open. She dragged her wounded hand back into her lap. "No." She said, stumbling over the word in her haste, getting to her feet. "No."
    She heard the scrape of his chair, his slow, heavy footsteps as he moved across the floor. She'd thought he was heading toward the door, but suddenly there he was, his hands gripping her shoulders gently, turning her around. She stiffened as he drew her close.
    "Trust me, love," he whispered. She felt his light kiss on her forehead, the warm brush of his lips across her cheek. "Sleep well."
    His hands dropped. Sari sagged against the wall. She watched his broad shoulders, the clean, spare movement of his hips as he crossed the floor.
    And she felt the cold rush of air as he disappeared into the prairie night.
     
    I t was working. Conor crossed his arms beneath his head and laid back against his saddlebags, closing his eyes against the darkness and the night rustlings of the animals. He told himself that her responses tonight were exactly what he wanted. He'd seen her hesitation, had seen vulnerability in those dark brown eyes, heard it in her voice. He'd known, at that last moment, that he could have kissed her and she would have let him. She was starting—if not to trust him again, then at least to accept him. Everything was going the way he'd planned.
    He told himself he should be satisfied.
    But there was a churning in his gut and a nagging reminder in his head, the reminder that Sari wasn't the only one affected by tonight. Much as he wanted to, Conor couldn't deny that when she had smiled, he'd felt it clear into his soul, and when he'd seen that hesitant vulnerability in her face, it had done something to his heart he still didn't quite understand.
    Despite himself, those things had brought back memories. Memories of sitting with Sari on her porch swing, talking while her husband and the other boys played cards inside. Memories of teasing her into laughter as they walked down the street, of dancing with her at a miner's dance and seeing the becoming flush in her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. Memories of snatched conversations and fumbling, hurried kisses.
    He had missed those things, he realized. In spite of everything, he had missed them. The knowledge made him uncomfortable. He thought he had put all that behind him, thought it had been buried in brick dust and splintered wood.