When he was finally lying flat, she found herself in a ridiculous position, with her arm pinned under him while she leaned over him, trying very hard not to touch his sore ribs or stomach accidentally. She made a wriggling attempt to free her arm, without success. “Can you lift up just a little so I can get my arm out?” she asked, out of breath from the exertion. His face looked ghastly white under its tan, and beads of perspiration had gathered on his upper lip. “Wait a minute.” His voice was unnaturally thin and taut. Despite the care she’d taken, the change of positions had obviously released a whole new series of stabbing pains. Sharon made no reply as she patiently waited for the fresh throbbings within him to dull. In the meantime, she had a hand braced on the pillow by his head and her arm trapped beneath his weight while her face hovered above the point of his shoulder near the slashing angle of his jaw. His eyes remained closed, black lashes lying thick and roughly spiked together.
