Page 38 of Hero's Heart

But when she’d finally emerged from that shower, eyes red-rimmed and smile heartbreakingly fragile, it had been all he could do not to pull her into his arms right then. Instead, he’d simply nodded, acutely aware of his own inadequacy in that moment.

Now, looking at her peaceful face, he was struck by how young she truly was. How much life she had ahead of her, assuming they made it out of this mess. She’d been so brave, pushing through exhaustion and fear as they’d trekked for milesyesterday. He’d seen the way her shoulders had slumped, how her feet had dragged, but she’d never complained.

And then that shit about her family? He wished he had Lincoln around to do one of his searches on her and tell Callum everything. But then again, he’d rather Sloane tell him herself. Some things weren’t meant to be read in a report.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he whispered, careful not to wake her.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, unconsciously nuzzling closer to him. His breath hitched, desire and guilt warring within him. He knew he should pull away, maintain some semblance of propriety. But the selfish part of him wanted to savor this moment, to memorize the feel of her in his arms.

Can’t happen, asshole. You’re here to protect her, nothing more.

And yet, here he was, unable to force himself to move away from her. In only twenty-four hours, he felt more for this woman than he had for anyone since Amelia.

Sloane stirred, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. Instead of pulling away as Callum expected, she pressed closer, her body molding to his. Her hand, warm and soft, glided along his arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

He lifted his eyes toward heaven, silently pleading for help.

He held his breath, torn between desire and the need to maintain some semblance of professional distance.

“Sloane,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he intended.

Her eyes flew open, realization of her movements dawning. She jerked her hand back, a blush staining her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—”

“It’s all right,” he interrupted, forcing a casual tone. “No harm done.”

She lifted her head, and her gaze traveled over to his, concern flooding her eyes. “Your wounds… Are they hurting? I saw the bandages last night.”

Callum shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. “Nothing to worry about. Just a couple of knife slices and a bullet graze. I’ve had worse paper cuts.”

“Let me see,” Sloane insisted, her fingers hovering over his shirt. “You got shot and stabbed. Twice. That doesn’t sound like paper cuts to me.”

“Really, it’s fine,” Callum protested, but he found himself complying anyway. He lifted the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the wounds beneath, which he’d left unwrapped last night—one cut from Jakob, one from the big guy at the cave. His other arm had the burn from the bullet that had grazed him in the tunnel.

Sloane’s breath caught. “Oh, Callum…”

He glanced down at the wounds, trying to see them through her eyes, but to him, they really were superficial at best. He managed a crooked smile. “Occupational hazard. I’ve had much worse. These were just scratches. They don’t even need medical attention. Trust me, I’ve been doing this a long time.”

Her hand came to rest over his heart, and Callum wondered if she could feel how rapidly it was beating. “You could have been killed,” Sloane said softly, her voice tight with an emotion he couldn’t quite place.

“But I wasn’t,” Callum replied, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m right here.”

She nodded, but her eyes remained troubled. When was the last time someone had worried about him like this?

And damn, why couldn’t he stop looking into those blue eyes of hers? If he didn’t get up right now, he was going to do something completely unacceptable.

Like kiss those soft lips so close.

“We should probably get moving,” he said, shifting away and getting out of bed. “We need to make it to Chi?inau, which is at least a couple hours’ drive from here.”

“What’s in Chi?inau?”

He looked back over to find her watching him with the slightest bit of hurt in her eyes from his abrupt departure from the bed. It took every bit of will not to sit down again and yank her back into his arms.

“It’s the capital, which means there’s a US embassy. Once we get to the embassy, we can sort out passports, airline tickets—everything we need to get you home safe.”

“Right,” Sloane agreed, her voice small. “Of course. To get home.”

“Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand to help her up.

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