When Hearts Collide - By James, Kendra Page 0,22

except for the nervous twitch playing at her lips, and the way she white-knuckled the end of the bed.

He yanked the oxygen mask away from his face. The metal band bit into the bridge of his nose, and he couldn’t see through the transparent plastic. His throat felt raw and swollen, and he swallowed the lump that had formed there. Tipping his head, he tried to make eye contact with the woman. She seemed to be avoiding his direct gaze.

Then he heard a voice that revolved his world 360 degrees.

“Daddy.”

The voice was small and tremulous, yet one he would recognize anywhere, the voice that made his world worth living. Her luminous blue eyes peeked around the corner of the hospital bed.

“Oh, Gracie,” he moaned. “You’re okay.” His eyes brimmed with tears. He closed them for half a second, as if thanking some unknown deity that she was alive and well. “Come here, baby.”

Gracie needed no second invitation. She ran to the bed and laid her head beside her father’s chest. His arms wrapped around her slight shoulders. Tears slid down his tanned cheeks, and he made no effort to wipe them away.

“Daddy crying?”

“It’s okay, Gracie. I’m just so happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you, too,” she announced. “Molly Mommy, come and see, Daddy’s awake now.”

Molly’s legs felt like frozen popsicles; popsicles that were melting away in the heat of the small hospital room—heat that escalated as she awaited Pearce’s response. She’d suppressed a shiver when she heard him speak for the first time since the accident. At that time, all she’d heard were pain-tortured words. Now she expected some initial raspiness after the irritation of the breathing tube and was surprised how wonderful his voice sounded. It was rich and deep and gentle as he spoke to his daughter.

Yet she was afraid of hearing his first words to her. Would he denounce her for pretending to be his wife? Perspiration trickled down her back, and she had trouble taking a breath. Would it infuriate him to hear his daughter call her Mommy? Then he was stretching out his hand. Molly let out an audible sigh.

“Come here, Molly.”

She approached the bed, stood beside him, and let him take her hand. Today it was warm, not like the cool hand she’d held last night while he clung to life. Then he was speaking—his voice soft, quiet, firm.

“Thank you, Molly. You saved my life.” He sighed deeply. “I don’t know what would have happened to Gracie, or to me, if you weren’t there.” He glanced at his daughter, then back at her. The intensity of his blue eyes held her.

“Anyone would have stopped.”

Pearce shook his head. “Not everyone would have been able to do what you did for me, and then take care of Gracie, too. That takes someone very special.”

His thumb stroked her hand, and with each stroke, a little tingle scurried up her arm. She knew she should pull her hand away, knew it was just too comfortable in his. She knew it, yet her hand remained enclosed in his.

“You can give him a kiss, you know,” Rita said from the doorway.

Her voice and words startled Molly, and her head snapped back so fast she thought she’d given herself whiplash. When she looked back at Pearce, her pupils felt as if they were the size of saucers. Had she imagined a mischievous wink in his twinkling blue eyes?

Molly shook her head. Could a simple wink from this man launch her heart into a series of flip-flops? She studied the man lying in the bed. With his unruly dark hair, his pale aristocratic face, his accident traumatized body, he was no one’s image of a Prince Galahad. But there was something, something she couldn’t describe or explain. She’d only known him for a matter of hours, and those hours restricted by his injured state, hospital visiting hours, and a hospital bed, yet already he felt so familiar to her.

“Yes, Molly, give your poor husband a kiss,” Pearce said.

Stunned, she stood, unable to move. The magnitude of his request melted the last trace of ice from her frozen legs and they became brittle matchsticks ready to burst into flame. She’d expected disorientation, denial, displeasure—definitely not a request for an intimate show of affection. What should she have expected? She was pretending to be his wife.

Her eyes locked with his. This time his mischievous wink was no trick of her imagination. Obviously, he wanted to keep the game in play. Molly