When Hearts Collide - By James, Kendra Page 0,40
his back, she wedged her body against his and eased him onto the chair. Then she was bringing the wheelchair, transferring him to the chair, and then to his bed. He was in too much pain to protest.
As she laid him back in the bed, her body was soft against him, and the scent of vanilla filled his nostrils. He was tempted to keep his head against her chest, rest against the supple fullness of her breasts, to remember what it felt like to bask in the warmth of a woman’s body.
Just a few days ago, his life had been organized, predictable, conservative to the point of humdrum. Now, he felt like he’d staggered on a treadmill with no shut-off switch and definitely no speed controls. He’d never felt this powerless.
The pain medication began to work, and he drifted to sleep with the sensation of softness and the scent of vanilla.
Chapter 10
Gracie settled in bed for the night, Molly returned to the kitchen. Pearce had cleaned up the supper dishes and was wiping off the table.
“Do you want coffee?” she asked.
“I guess I shouldn’t have anything stronger with the antibiotics and pain pills, should I?”
When he raised his eyebrows and grinned at her, she felt her heart do a series of somersaults that left her dizzy. Leaning against the doorframe, Molly waited for her heart to settle. She needed to know more about him. She’d told him about her life. Would he tell her about his? Keeping busy making the coffee, she was relieved when he left the confines of the kitchen. She didn’t want him to notice how distracting his presence made her.
Molly took two mugs of coffee and a plate of cookies to the family room and placed them on the coffee table. She sat at the other end of the chesterfield.
“You look like you have something on your mind,” Pearce said.
Molly added sugar and cream to her coffee, took a sip, then turned to face him. “I need to ask you something.”
“Ask away.”
Molly hesitated, wrapping her fingers around the cup as if its warmth could penetrate her body, give her the courage to ask questions he may not want to answer. She met his gaze. “What happened to Gracie’s mother?”
She saw his mouth tighten and noted the tiny twitch on the left side of his cheek.
“I don’t want to talk about her. She’s dead.” The fingers clutching the mug went white.
“I don’t want you to speak ill of her. I need to know what happened in Gracie’s past so I can help her. You’re safe at home now, and she’s still having the occasional nightmare. And,” Molly said, “at the hospital she was afraid of her grandmother.”
Pearce harrumphed. “Wouldn’t you be afraid of that woman?”
Molly couldn’t help grinning. “Well, she is rather formidable.”
His voice turned harsh, and the anger blazing in his eyes turned their usual bright blue to charcoal. “You’re being overly kind. That woman is a cold, uncaring bitch.”
Molly shrank back from the force of his anger. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “What did she do?”
“Let Gracie be put in foster care, that’s what she did.”
Molly let out an audible gasp.
“So you can see why I hate her.”
“How could she let that happen?”
“You met the woman. She’s an iceberg.”
“But her granddaughter...” Molly stammered.
“I don’t want to talk about her. Help me back to bed.”
Molly had more questions, but his rage, reflected in his blazing eyes and the clench of his jaw, kept her silent. She had no idea how deep his anger lay and had no desire to trigger something both of them would regret.
Pearce leaned back into the vinyl seat and let his forearms flop onto the armrests. How long will I have to be in this damned thing? He clenched his fist around the unresisting plastic support until the knuckles blanched. He hated how doing something as simple as getting out of bed, or getting dressed, drained him. He hated being weak, hated it with a passion. Being dependent on anyone rankled him more than he chose to admit.
He had been on his own since he was sixteen when his mother remarried, and he ran away from home. She’d doted on him, when she wasn’t trying to capture some potential husband. But when his newest stepfather decided he needed rules and militaristic discipline, he’d bolted.
He’d worked hard to make something of himself and everything had been going along so well. Then, with the car accident, the proverbial sky had