Lucas’s heart thundered louder than a Comanche war drum as he stared at their reflection. Antoinette remained utterly still, her back as straight as one of the iron bars on her cell door, her eyes wide and dark. A bead of sweat slid down his temple. Damn it, he never should have let himself help her. Or touch her. Should’ve left her lying on the floor. Should’ve left once he made sure she wasn’t seriously hurt. He should leave now. But he didn’t. He didn’t move a muscle, the roll of bandages gripped in his hand. Her breathing had become rapid, shallow. His whole body felt heavy and hard. God Almighty, he had been trying to do something considerate, something right. Instead, everything had gone wrong. Until this moment, she hadn’t even seemed to understand the effect she had on him—sitting here within his reach, half-naked, all soft curves and wet skin.
