at him, tried to ignore the feel of his rough fingers against her, tried to breathe…but not breathe too fast. She’d never been naked like this in front of a man before. Only in her wildest fantasies had the first man been Fionn.
Don’t think about fantasies right now.
Fionn smoothed down another length of tape. “Open heart surgery, yeah?”
Lyse glanced down. She hadn’t even been thinking about the long pinkish-silver scar that traveled the length of her breastbone. Now she reached up instinctively, rubbing away the phantom ache that too often came with her memories.
“Yeah. When I was a kid.”
“Why?” Fionn asked.
“I was born with a malformation of the heart,” Lyse said quietly. “My birth mother gave me up for adoption; she couldn’t afford my care, they said. I was with my foster parents by the time I had the surgery.”
Fionn worked silently for a moment. “But everything’s all right now?”
“Yes. All healed.” She rubbed at her breastbone again.
“It’s all right; no worries,” Fionn murmured, his hand clasping her wrist and pulling it down. Along the way, the back of his knuckles brushed the tip of her breast.
Her breath caught in her throat. He couldn’t help but feel how hard her nipple was, how aroused she was, even with the pain from her wound. He wouldn’t be able to miss the blush creeping along her skin. Lyse closed her eyes, turned her head away from him. Why did she have to feel this way? Why Fionn? Even if he did want her, even if he could forgive her, she would never be enough for someone as experienced as him. A clueless computer nerd dreaming about the sexiest man alive. She had nothing to offer him—
The touch came again, a brief brush against the cloth-covered nipple.
Lyse whipped her head around, her eyes opening. Fionn’s gaze was glued to her breasts, to their hands clasped together, barely skimming the underside of the round globe now. She fought the need to arch into that touch, to press herself harder against him. To beg for more. She couldn’t bring herself to look away, though, even when that molten gaze traced the pink stain of arousal from her chest to her neck to her cheeks.
His eyes met hers.
She couldn’t read the emotion swirling there; all she knew was, it wasn’t hatred. It looked a lot like anger, but she didn’t think that was it either. Remembering their kiss last night, she licked her dry lips instinctively, moistening them for him, maybe teasing him—if she even knew how to tease. Could she tease him?
She hadn’t realized she was inching forward, bringing their lips close, until Fionn blinked. The spell locking them together broke.
The disappointment hurt more than her side.
“We’d better be gettin’ you into the shower,” Fionn said, his voice hoarse.
Chapter Fourteen
His balls were drawn up tight, ready to explode, and all it had taken was a hard nipple and soft, silky skin. When she’d taken off her shirt—hell. His cock had threatened to punch through his zipper, and that was before he’d made the mistake of touching her. A mistake he wouldn’t be escaping, not if he had to protect her injury.
He should stand up, turn his back, walk away. Stop letting himself get close enough to Lyse to forget everything but her body. He’d walked away from enough women that it should be easy. So why wasn’t it? Why did he find himself wanting her every time they breathed the same air, then hating himself after? This woman had betrayed him. Why the hell did his body want hers?
He prodded at the idea like a sore tooth, but the anger he expected didn’t come. Maybe his blue balls were doing the thinking for him at the moment.
Drawing out another strip of tape, he secured one end at the bottom corner of her bandage, laying the length along the edge until the opposite corner adhered to her bare skin, then cut the end. Two more strips and she’d be ready for the shower.
The next strip went down easy, but the last one crossed directly over the wound on her side. As he laid the tape firmly onto the bandage, Lyse flinched away, a pain-filled hiss escaping her.
His free hand went automatically to her opposite side, holding her in place. The warmth of her skin registered against his palm, and he splayed his fingers, seeking out more, covering as much of her as he could get. Smooth silk against calloused skin.
A groan rose in his throat. He