Although she registered all these things—her body reacting, her heart melting, her knees quaking—she couldn’t seem to make her muscles work, couldn’t seem to voice the thoughts running through her head.
His touch was so gentle as he inspected the fleshy, outer pad of her palm that her heart warmed and tears misted her eyes. With his thumb, he tenderly probed the cut for any remaining slivers of glass. As he moved his way around the small wound, his gaze kept darting to her face, evidently checking to see if her expression conveyed any pain.
She was devastated by the compassion emanating from him. The urge to rest her head on his shoulder, to lean on him, to confide in him was awesome. Earth-shattering. She imagined a moment of complete peace in his arms…and for an instant, she could easily conjure what heaven really meant.
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