He reached up and swiped the curtain aside. Moonlight shafted brightly through the window, but it was better than trying to sleep with a curtain that was exactly the right length to hit him on his nose.
He closed his eyes. He was tired down in his bones. He supposed it could still be the lingering effect of the bone marrow harvest. But far more likely the reason was the woman sleeping next to him.
He lifted his arm above his head, trying to find more room for himself, but his knuckles hit the wall and Laurel murmured something indecipherable. Beyond the reach of the stupid pillows, he felt her foot graze his calf.
She’d always started out bundled in a ball. And she’d always ended up sprawled all over him. Silky hair splaying over his chest. Silky legs tangled with his.
There weren’t many days back then that they hadn’t begun by making love.
He curled his fingers into a fist as his body stirred.
He really wasn’t strong enough for this.
Swearing under his breath, he kicked the folded blanket off the side of the bed and followed it.
Yeah. Driving back to Texas had been a really brilliant idea.
The wall got in the way of her elbow and Laurel opened her eyes.
Sunlight streamed through the window above her head.
She couldn’t believe it. She’d actually slept the entire night through. Not one nightmare. Not one gut-wrenching attack of pure panic that kept her awake for hours and hours and hours.
The other side of the bed was silent. The pillows she’d arranged in the middle of the bed were still there, though slightly askew now.
She lifted her head to peek over them, but the stretch of smooth white sheet only confirmed what she already knew.
Adam wasn’t there.
Both of the accordion doors were open. Spaces beyond unoccupied. Nor was he standing in the other alcove at the sink.
He’d probably gone to sample Sis’s cranberry muffins.
Which was a relief. They could avoid more of the awkwardness of the night before.
She unwound the quilt from her legs and rolled across the mattress, sliding off the bed.
But her feet didn’t encounter the expected floor, and she jumped back, screeching instinctively. “What on—”
Adam sat up, blinking blearily. “What’s wrong?”
His dark hair was rumpled and spiked and boyishly endearing.
But that was the only thing about him that was boyish.
From the dark blur of whiskers that didn’t do a lick to soften his chiseled jaw to the very, very bare torso, he was nothing but all man.
She quickly looked away but still felt as if the sight would be seared on her brain for life. Particularly the long fingers he’d spread over the hard abdomen that she’d nearly trod upon.
She took refuge in tartness. “What on earth are you doing down there?”
“I was sleeping,” he muttered and planted one hand on the mattress to lever himself upward. But he stopped abruptly and sank back down, looking even more disgruntled. He clawed his fingers through his hair and raked his palm down his face. When he looked up again, his dark eyes were more alert. “What time is it?”
“How would I know?”
“I see you’re still sweetness and light when you first roll out of bed in the morning.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but nothing came out. Mostly because her addled brain realized the implication behind his words. “What do you know about my mood when I first roll out of bed? You said we weren’t serious.”
His dark eyes were suddenly shuttered. “That’s right.” He rolled to his feet, the blanket bunched in front of him. “If you were on the way to the bathroom, get to it.”
She flushed and nearly obeyed. But she wanted to remember her life. Which meant facing questions she was afraid of asking. And the sooner, the better. “We slept together, didn’t we?”
His lips compressed as though he didn’t want to answer. And she was more convinced than ever that “not serious” had been on his part, alone.
“Often?” she prodded.
A noise from outside the window drew his attention and he yanked on the curtain, sending the hooks careening back across the window. “You want a number?”
Her stomach dipped and swayed. Cowardice toppled her spurt of bravery. She shook her head and looked away, sliding rapidly off the bed.
But she didn’t make the two steps required before reaching the paltry privacy of an accordion door, because as soon as her feet hit the ground, Adam swore and caught her hand.
The jagged scar he was staring at wound from her inner wrist, over her forearm and up to her elbow. It was red and ugly. How could he be anything but repulsed?
She yanked her hand free and shut herself into the toilet room.
She was shaking.
“Laurel.”
She slapped her hand against the door, holding it firm. “Leave me alone.”
“Laurel—”
“I said leave me alone!” She could hear the tears in her voice as surely as they burned her eyes.
He was silent. But she knew he was standing on the other side of the plastic door. Imagined she could feel the very beat of his heart.
He’d been nothing but kind to her. While she felt barely in control of her life.
“Ten minutes,” he said quietly and she felt him walk away.
She heard rustling.
The slide of the dead bolt on the room’s door.
And then silence. Real silence.
Tension drained out of her, leaving her feeling dizzy and weak.
Moving as slowly as if she were a hundred years old, she used the toilet and stepped across the square of carpet to close herself in with the shower. She reached out to turn on the faucet, her eyes on her left arm.
It might have been her right arm she’d broken in the accident. But it was the left that had been torn to pieces by jagged metal.
She should have worn
