His Healing Touch. Loree Lough

it was to walk away, to put even these few yards of hardwood floor between them.

      “G’night. And thanks again, for everything.”

      “You’re welcome,” he muttered, closing the door.

      Adam rubbed his jaw. He should’ve stoked the fire. Should’ve double-checked the door and window locks. Should’ve made sure she had everything she needed. Should’ve kept your hands to yourself!

      The memory of Kasey—so tiny in his arms, so strong and yet strangely vulnerable—sparked in his mind. Adam rubbed his eyes, but the vision seemed tattooed on the insides of his eyelids. “What you don’t know can’t hurt you,” he whispered. The old adage made perfect sense, suddenly, because he’d given in to a weak moment, and more than likely, he’d be sorry in the morning.

      In truth, he was sorry now.

      Moments ago, he’d held perfection in his arms.

      And he’d never again be able to settle for less.

      The quiet pop and crackle of logs burning in the grate and the steady thrum of rain on the roof lulled Kasey into a near-sleep state. Drowsily, she glanced around the cabin’s living room, where everything, from the deep green plaid valances above the dark wood-trimmed windows to Adam’s well-worn brown recliner, reflected the flames’ buttery glow. It was a tastefully designed space that made her feel safe and secure. Had he hired a professional to create the cozy atmosphere, or had he chosen the furnishings himself?