A Perfect Hero by Samantha James Page B

candles and walked back to the pot. It was then that Dane awoke. “What is that?” he asked.
    “Broth. I thought it would be good for you. Would you like some?”
    He nodded.
    Julianna carefully ladled it into a wooden bowl and carried it to the bed. Dane was pushing him self to a sitting position, his back against the wall. As he did, icy-hot needles shot through his chest, all the way down his left arm. The movement ar rested, he cradled his arm with his good hand.
    “God rot it—” he gave an explosive curse “—I don’t think I can hold the damned bowl!”
    “It’s all right.” She hastened forward. “I can feed you, if you like—”
    He was scowling, his mouth tight. “It is not all right! I won’t have you feeding me like a child!”
    Julianna froze. She was caught squarely be tween the desire to dump the broth over his head and an elusive hurt. And it was that which Dane saw.
    Yet before he could say a word, she said care fully, “Perhaps tomorrow you’ll feel well enough to sit at the table. For now, I have an idea.”
    Seconds later, she stepped to the bedside, handing him a cup with the hot broth.
    Wordlessly he accepted it. Unthinkingly he took a sip. His eyes watered. He choked back a cough. God above, had she emptied the entire tin of salt in the kettle? Over the rim of the cup, her features flashed before him, the brilliance of her eyes wide and wary, yet he read in them an eager ness to please.
    And here he was, he thought grimly, acting the beast.
    Wretched though it was, he drained the broth, every last drop.
    He set the cup aside and leaned back. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper. It’s not your fault.”
    Oh, but it was. And they both knew it. Ju lianna battled a rush of stupid, foolish tears. She would have stepped back lest he see, but he caught her fingers.
    She gave a tiny shake of her head. “I . . . It’s all right,” she said awkwardly.
    He frowned suddenly. His gaze roved over her face. “You look tired,” he observed.
    “I’m fine.” She flashed a smile. “Truly.”
    But Dane saw beneath the façade. “You’re ex hausted, aren’t you?”
    “Now why would you say such a thing!”
    So. The lady was stubborn and persistent. He tried another tack.
    “When was the last time you slept?”
    “I cannot remember.”
    He cocked a brow. “ Have you slept?”
    “A little,” she lied.
    “You haven’t,” he pronounced flatly.
    “I did!” she insisted. “I slept there!” She pointed to the chair next to her.
    His eyes narrowed. He made a disapproving sound low in his throat.
    “Well, you won’t be sleeping there tonight.”
    She yanked her hand away and propped them on her hips. “You’re certainly in no condition to stop me,” she pointed out.
    “No?” Dane allowed a smile to curl his lips, nodding at the empty cup. “Your sustenance has given me renewed strength.”
    She blinked. She wasn’t looking quite so sure of herself.
    Holding her gaze, he reached for the coverlet, his intention clear.
    “Don’t you dare!” It was an ardent, vehement protest.
    Dane paused, raising a brow in silent query.
    “Oh, bother!” she cried.
    Dane sighed. “Need I remind you I am hardly in any condition to accost you? And what would people think of me if they knew I let a woman sit in a chair all night while I occupied the bed?”
    Her eyes met his rather unwillingly, he de cided. But she was softening; he sensed it.
    “They would, no doubt, say you are a rogue, which you are.”
    He lifted a corner of the blanket. “You won’t do either of us any good without rest.”
    “It would be highly improper for me to sleep with you in that bed.”
    He scowled. “Lady,” he growled, “you already have.”
    “It is most ungentlemanly of you to remind me of that.” It was true. But she hadn’t had a choice then, with him the Magpie and she his captive. But now—now, she did.
    She was weakening. This was madness, she told herself. She