Chapter Three Hundred and Seventy One

He draped a blanket over her, then sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her pale lips and the bruised circles under her eyes. He picked up a cool lock of her hair, not wanting to wake her, but needing to touch her, even if it was only a silky tress wound around his finger.

He missed her. And he hated that she wouldn't accept his help. He hadn’t meant to put such a schism between them. How was he going to make her understand that he cared. When she wouldn't even let him say anything or make a suggestion without fighting him.

His concentration at work had been shot. Since that day she announced she loved him... Or used to love him. He wasn't sure she still did. Not after he had been a jerk...He hadn't even known what to say. Except that the urge to take care of her and protect her was stronger than ever.