Rawhide and Lace. Diana Palmer
shrugged. “Lead on. You’ll have to allow for my leg. I don’t move so quickly these days.”
He watched her come toward him, every movement careful and obviously painful.
“Oh, my God,” he said tightly.
Her eyes flared at him. “Don’t pity me,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare!”
His chin lifted as he took a long, slow breath. “How bad is it?” he asked.
She stopped just in front of him. “I’ll make it,” she said coldly.
He only nodded. He turned to open the door, holding it as she brushed against him. She smelled of roses, and as he caught the scent in his nostrils, he struggled to suppress memories that were scarcely bearable.
“Erin,” he said huskily as she went past him.
But she didn’t answer him, she didn’t look at him. She moved painfully down the hall and out the open door to the street. She didn’t even look back.
After a minute, he picked up her suitcase, locked the door, and followed her.
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