Page 51 of Tormented Hearts

Thick brush crowded in from both sides until the trail narrowed to barely the width of a foot in places. Somewhere off to the left, water was running hard over rock, loud enough that he didn’t hear her renewed muttering until they cleared it.

He stopped and faced her. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

She stopped too. With a sharp flick of her hand, she swiped a loose tendril of hair off her forehead and hot words spilled out all at once, tumbling over each other like she’d been holding them in for miles.

“My feet. God, my feet! I don’t even want to look at them because every step I take I feel blisters on top of blisters, and I’m so done pretending I’m fine!”

“Blisters?” He looked down at her boots like they could confess to the crime of giving her pain. “Sinead, why didn’t you say so?”

The crease between her brows seemed to ease from anger to confusion, like she never once thought she could complain.

He waved at a flat rock a few feet off the trail. “Sit.”

She glared at him like he suggested she dance for him instead.

His bodyguard training kicked in, and he gently closed his fingers around her waist and swept her up in his arms.

“Heath!”

He smiled into her eyes. “Since it hurts you to walk to the rock, I’ll carry you.”

Her fingers bunched on his shoulder, but she didn’t protest as he settled her on the rock. He crouched in front of her and worked her boot laces loose.

As he drew off her sock, he threw a glance at her face, watching for signs of discomfort.

She spotted the angry red blister on her heel and let out a low cry.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. This must have been building for hours. You should have told me.”

He removed her other boot and sock and shook his head at finding not one but two large blisters on that foot.

He reached into his pack and located his first aid kit. She watched him pull out the supplies he needed to fix her up and keep her going for a bit longer. He laid them out one by one on the rock next to her.

Antibiotic salve, moleskin every Army Ranger carried and a fresh pair of thick socks.

He worked quickly but carefully, cleaning the blisters and covering them with soft bandages. Then he cut the moleskin to size and pressed it in place over the sores. Lastly, he rolled the new socks on her feet.

When he looked up at her face, he noticed the welt on her cheek—a bug bite, swollen enough to give her face a soft, rounded look that struck him as cute.

He didn’t dare say that to Sinead, though. Instead, he dug out the anti-itch cream and dabbed a little on the bite on her cheek and another on her forehead.

Her gaze was fixed on his face. “You don’t have to do this.” The fight seemed to have washed out of her in the wake of her outburst, making her voice quiet.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He found another bite on the side of her neck and smoothed cream over that one too, his fingertip lingering a beat longer than the task required.

She dropped her gaze to his chest. “Even the safari guide kissed up for a big tip. That’s the only reason he took the risks he did, getting so close to that lion.”

He huffed a breath through his nose. “I’m not doing this because you’re paying my salary.”

“You aren’t?” she breathed.

He capped the cream and set it aside. Then met her gaze, dead serious when he said, “I’m doing this because it’s you.”

Her chest gave a little heave, and her lips parted on a silent puff of air.

Then he leaned in and kissed her—a slow, unhurried brush of lips.

Nothing like the pace they’d been keeping all day.