“she glanced down and saw that a glove of blood covered her lower arm from the elbow to the wrist. The arm was throbbing, stiff, and painful. "Is this when you start tearing strips off your T-shirt to bind up my wound?" she joked. She hated the sight of blood, especially her own. "If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked." He dug into his pocket and brought out his stele. "It would have been a lot less painful.”

“Is this the part where you start tearing off strips of your shirt to bind my wounds?""If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked.”

“Nothing but the sight of blood upon his dark face would ease the pain in her heart. She lunged for him, swift as a cat, but with a light startled movement, he sidestepped, throwing up his arm to ward her off. She was standing on the edge of the freshly waxed top step, and as her arm with the whole weight of her body behind it, struck his out-thrust arm, she lost her balance. She made a wild clutch for the newel post and missed it. She went down the stairs backwards, feeling a sickening dart of pain in her ribs as she landed. And, too dazed to catch herself she rolled over and over to the bottom of the flight.”

“And then he saw the tears begin to slide down her bruised face.“How badly are you hurt?” He should have checked her chart on the way in, but he'd wanted to get out of sight as quickly as possible.“Nothing interesting,” she said, sounding faintly disgruntled. “Just a sprained ankle and some bruises. It's my heart.”“Your heart?” he echoed, panicked. “Do you have internal injuries...?”“It's broken,” she said, soft, plaintive, the tears still sliding down her face.He muttered a curse. It was just the drugs talking, but he could feel his own heart twist inside. She lay in the middle of the wide hospital bed, but she was looking very small, and he simply climbed up beside her, pulling her into his arms with exquisite care, not wanting to hurt her any more.She let out a small sound, and for a moment he thought it was a cry of pain, but then she moved closer, putting her face against his shoulder, and he could feel her crying. “I missed you,” she said, her voice muffled.“I know.” He held her gently—she suddenly felt fragile, and he'd almost been too late.”

“She wanted Kristen to do all the horrible things she said she would do to her and to have her physical pain from Kristen’s hate replace her mental pain from her father’s love. Pain that comes from the outside was much easier to endure. The wounds heal, the scars go away, and it’s over. She could move on. She would live on and forget her pain. The wounds caused by her father, that festered inside Simone’s heart, mind, and blood would never heal. She would never be able to just move on and forget the scars.”

“Can I tell you something without it going to your head?" Shelby murmured as she ran her fingers down his chest, over his ribs."Probably not." His voice had thickened from the pleasure of being touched. "I'm reasily flattered.""In my workroom..." Shelby pressed her lips to his chest and felt his heartbeat thud faster against them. "When I messed up your shirt and you took it off to rinse it? I turned around and saw you-I wanted to get my hands on you like this." She ran her palms up,then down again to where his waist narrowed. "Just like this,I nearly did."Alan felt his blood start to pound-in his head, his heart,his loins. "I wouldn't have put up much of a fight.""If I'd decided to have you, Senator," she murmured on a sultry laugh, "you wouldn't have had a chance.""Is that so?"Shelby ran her tongue down his rib cage. "Mmm," she said when she heard the small, quick intake of breath. "Just so.A MacGregor will always buckle under to a Campbell."Alan started to form a retort, then her fingers skimmed his thigh. As a politician, he knew the value of a debate-but sometimes they didn't require words.She could have the floor first.”