Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,10

on the campaign trail.” His hands tightened on her shoulders. “Look at me. Speak to me from your heart.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze and saw determined steel in the dark pools. Her fingers curled into fists, nails cutting into her palms as she summoned resolve. “I told you, I’m trying to make this decision with my head, not my heart.”

“Is that why you chose to break it off with me in the diner? You wanted a clean, surgical strike, right? No arguments, no emotional fallout.” The hurt swimming in his eyes burrowed into her chest. He shook his head. “Did you actually believe you could drop a bomb like that and then walk away?”

How could she possibly speak from her heart when it ached so badly she could hardly talk? “A clean, fast incision is less painful, and heals better.”

“Those are your mother’s words, not yours.”

The world stopped. Oh no! Was it too late? Had her mother succeeded in making Bailey over into her image? No. That’s what Bailey was trying to prevent. She refused to amputate her feelings. She would feel every stab of pain, be completely honest with Con. She owed him that. Owed herself. “I chose a public place because I knew if we were alone, you’d use your talent for blarney, and if necessary, those agile hands to charm and sway me.”

Needing distance, she stepped back, breaking his hold, and he released her. Why couldn’t it be that easy to break his emotional hold on her? “I can’t resist you when you’re in persuasive mode, Con.”

“If you could, I would let you go. It’s the same for me, sweetheart—I can’t resist you, either. We belong together.”

“We’d start out happy. But I’ll end up bitter and angry and you’ll be cold and resentful. I’ve seen it before.”

“Like your parents, you said. You’ve never talked about them until now.”

Maybe if she explained, he’d accept her decision. “I’ve never talked about them before because it hurt too much.”

“I don’t want to dredge up bad memories, but if it affects us, you need to tell me.”

“Yes. You should know.” She braced herself against the pain and dove in. “My parents met at a ball for the children’s burn ward at Mercy Hospital. He was a fireman, she was in her last year of residency. The attraction was instantaneous for them, too. He was a handsome, risk-taking adrenaline junkie, and Mom fell hard. They dated for six exciting, romantic months, then married. I was born two years later. At first, everything was wonderful.”

“What happened?”

“When I was eight, Dad got trapped in a warehouse fire and received second-and third-degree burns on his arms and face.”

Empathy softened his eyes to brown velvet. He reached for her hand, held it in both of his big, warm ones. “That’s why you volunteer at the children’s burn ward.”

“Yes. As a tribute to his courage and devotion.”

He squeezed her hand. “He…didn’t recover?”

“He did. His recovery was painful, but he was back on the job in a year. With major facial scarring. Not that it mattered. I could see past the scars to the man underneath.” Pulled by need stronger than will, she edged nearer to Con. The heat and strength of his lean body compelled her, comforted her.

“But the injury changed more than his face.”

She nodded. “He had scars on the outside, but Mom had scars on the inside. They argued about him returning to active duty. Between disputes, they were silent for days. He said firefighting was his calling, just as healing was hers. The arguments escalated. Screaming recriminations. Tears. Ultimatums.”

“That must have been terrifying for you.”

She gazed at the compassionate face of the man she loved and her heart shattered for the second time that day. “You’re just like him. Brave and dedicated, one hundred percent committed. The chances you take scare me beyond belief.” She was trembling all over. “The same thing would happen to us. We’d fight. You’d go to work distracted, and—”

“And what?”

“You’d die.”

He tugged her closer, a mere breath away. “Is that what happened?” She watched the light shimmer in shiny water droplets in his hair, smelled the fresh, tangy soap he’d used. Longed to be held in his arms. But she’d relinquished that privilege.

“They had a terrible argument—the worst. He got called up for a five-alarm fire. Mom said if he walked out the door, she was taking me and divorcing him. He kissed me with tears in his eyes, and told me he had to do his