Mind Over Matter

hell have you done to yourself?”
    Blankly she looked down. “I don’t know. It hurts,” she said as she flexed her hand.
    “Come on.” He led her to the sink and began to clean off dried blood with cool water.
    “Ow!” She would have jerked her hand away if he hadn’t held it still.
    “I’ve never had a very gentle touch,” he muttered.
    She leaned a hip against the sink. “So I’ve noticed.”
    Annoyed at seeing the rough wound on her hand, he began to dab it with a towel. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ve got some Merthiolate.”
    “That stings.”
    “Don’t be a baby.”
    “I’m not.” But he had to tug her along. “It’s only a scrape.”
    “And scrapes get infected.”
    “Look, you’ve already rubbed it raw. There can’t be a germ left.”
    He nudged her into the bathroom. “We’ll make sure.”
    Before she could stop him, he took out a bottle and dumped medicine over her knuckles. What had been a dull sting turned to fire. “Damn it!”
    “Here.” He grabbed her hand again and began to blow on the wound. “Just give it a minute.”
    “A lot of good that does,” she muttered, but the pain cooled.
    “We’ll fix dinner. That’ll take your mind off it.”
    “You’re supposed to fix dinner,” she reminded him.
    “Right.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ve got to run out for a minute. I’ll start the grill when I get back.”
    “That doesn’t mean I’m going to be chopping vegetables while you’re gone. I’m going to take a bath.”
    “Fine. If the water’s still hot when I get back, I’ll join you.”
    She didn’t ask where he was going. She wanted to, but there were rules. Instead A.J. walked into the bedroom and watched from the window as he pulled out of the drive. Weary, she sat on the bed and pulled off her boots. The afternoon had taken its toll, physically, emotionally. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to feel.
    Giving in, she stretched out across the bed. She’d rest for a minute, she told herself. Only for a minute.
    David came home with a handful of asters he’d begged from a neighbor’s garden. He thought the idea of dropping them on A.J. while she soaked in the tub might bring the laughter back to her eyes. He’d never heard her laugh so much or so easily asshe had over the weekend. It wasn’t something he wanted to lose. Just as he was discovering she wasn’t something he wanted to lose.
    He went up the stairs quietly, then paused at the bedroom door when he saw her. She’d taken off only her boots. A pillow was crumpled under her arm as she lay diagonally across the bed. It occurred to him as he stepped into the room that he’d never watched her sleep before. They’d never given each other the chance.
    Her face looked so soft, so fragile. Her hair was pale and tumbled onto her cheek, her lips unpainted and just parted. How was it he’d never noticed how delicate her features were, how slender and frail her wrists were, how elegantly feminine the curve of her neck was?
    Maybe he hadn’t looked, David admitted as he crossed to the bed. But he was looking now.
    She was fire and thunder in bed, sharp and tough out of it. She had a gift, a curse and ability she fought against every waking moment, one that he was just beginning to understand. He was just beginning to see that it made her defensive and defenseless.
    Only rarely did the vulnerabilities emerge, and then with such reluctance from her he’d tended to gloss over them. But now, just now, when she was asleep and unaware of him, she looked like something a man should protect, cherish.
    The first stirrings weren’t of passion and desire, but of a quiet affection he hadn’t realized he felt for her. He hadn’t realized it was possible to feel anything quiet for Aurora. Unable to resist, he reached down to brush the hair from her cheek and feel the warm, smooth skin beneath.
    She stirred. He’d wanted her to. Heavy and sleep-glazed, her eyes opened. “David?” Even her voice was soft, feminine.
    “I brought you a present.” He sat on the bed beside her and dropped the flowers by her hand.
    “Oh.” He’d seen that before, too, he realized. That quick surprise and momentary confusion when he’d done something foolish or romantic. “You didn’t have to.”
    “I think I did,” he murmured, half to himself. Almost as an experiment, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her softly, gently, with the tenderness she’d made him feel as she slept. He felt the ache move