She knew she would always remember the sound of his voice, the way he slipped into a Scottish burr for the dialogue to amuse her. And the way he looked, she thought, the way his face was lit by the small bulb so that his eyes were dark, his cheekbones shadowed.

Her hero, she thought. Now and always. Closing her eyes, Brianna let the words he read drift over her.

“You’re mine.” Ian swept her into his arms, strong arms that trembled from the need that gripped him. “By law and by right, you’re mine. And I am pledged to you, Katrina, from this day, from this hour.”

“And are you mine, Ian?” Fearlessly she speared her fingers into his hair, drew him closer. “Are you mine, Dark Lord?”

“No one has ever loved you more than I.” He swore it. No one ever will.

Brianna fell asleep wishing the words Gray read could be his own.

Gray watched her, knowing from the slow, steady sound of her breathing that she’d drifted off. He indulged himself then and buried his face in his hands. Keep it light. He’d promised himself he’d keep it light, and the strain was catching up with him.

She wasn’t badly hurt. But no matter how often he reminded himself of that, he couldn’t shake the bone-deep terror that had gripped him from the moment Murphy had stepped into the kitchen.

He didn’t want her in a hospital, bruised and bandaged. He never wanted to think of her hurt in any way. And now he would always remember it, he would always know that something could happen to her. That she might not be, as he wanted her always to be, humming in her kitchen or babying her flowers.

It infuriated him that he would have this picture of her to carry with all the others. And it infuriated him all the more that he’d come to care so much he knew those pictures wouldn’t fade as hundreds of other memories had.

He’d remember Brianna, and that tie would make it difficult to leave. And necessary to do so quickly.

He brooded over it as he waited for the night to pass. Each time a nurse would come to check Brianna, he listened to their murmured questions, her sleepy responses. Once, when he came back out, she called for him softly.

“Go back to sleep.” He brushed the hair away from her brow. “It’s not morning yet.

“Grayson.” Drifting again, she reached for his hand. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah.” He looked down at her, frowned. “I’m still here.”

When she awoke again, it was light. Forgetting, she started to sit up, and the dull ache in her shoulder jarred her memory. More annoyed now than distressed, she touched her fingertips to the bandage on her head and looked around for Gray.

She hoped he’d found some empty bed or waiting room couch to sleep on. She smiled at his flowers and wished she’d asked him to put them closer so that she could touch them as well.

Warily she tugged out the bodice of her nightgown, bit her lip. There was a rainbow of bruises down her breastbone and torso where the seat belt had secured her. Seeing them, she was grateful Gray had helped her change into the nightgown in the dark.

It wasn’t fair, she thought. It wasn’t right that she should look so battered for the last few days they had together. She wanted to be beautiful for him.

“Good morning, Miss Concannon, so you’re awake.” A nurse breezed in, all smiles and youth and blooming health. Brianna wanted to hate her.

“I am, yes. When will the doctor come to release me?”

“Oh, he’ll be making his rounds soon, don’t worry. Nurse Mannion said you passed a peaceful night.” As she spoke, she strapped a blood pressure cuff on Brianna’s arm, stuck a thermometer under her tongue. “No dizziness then? Good, good,” she said when Brianna shook her head. She checked the blood pressure gauge, nodded, slipped the thermometer back out and nodded again at the results. “Well, you’re doing fine, then, aren’t you?”

“I’m ready to go home.”

“I’m sure you’re anxious.” The nurse made notes on the chart. “Your sister’s called already this morning, and a Mr. Biggs. An American. He said he was the one who hit your car.”

“Yes.”

“We reassured them both that you’re resting comfortably. The shoulder paining you?”

“A bit.”

“You can have something for that now,” she said, reading the chart.

“I don’t want a shot.”

“Oral.” She smiled. “And your breakfast is coming. Oh, Nurse Mannion said you’d need two trays. One for Mr. Thane?” Obviously enjoying the joke, she glanced toward the bathroom. “I’ll be leaving in just a moment, Mr. Thane, and you can come out. She says he’s a most handsome man,” the nurse murmured to Brianna. “With the devil’s own smile.”

“He is.”

“Lucky you. I’ll get you something for the pain.”

When the door closed again, Gray stepped out of the bathroom, scowled. “What, does that woman have radar?”

“Were you really in there? Oh, Gray, I thought you’d found a place to sleep. Have you been up all night?”

“I’m used to being up all night. Hey, you look better.” He came closer, his scowl fading into a look of sheer relief. “You really look better.”

“I don’t want to think of how I look. And you look tired.”

“I don’t feel tired now. Starving,” he said, pressing a hand to his stomach. “But not tired. What do you think they’ll feed us?”

“You are not going to carry me into the house.”

“Yes, I am.” Gray skirted the hood of his car and opened the passenger door. “The doctor said you could come home, if you took it easy, rested every afternoon, and avoided any heavy lifting.”

“Well, I’m not lifting anything, am I?”

“Nope. I am.” Careful of her shoulder, he slipped an arm behind her back, another behind her knees. “Women are supposed to think this kind of stuff’s romantic.”

“Under different circumstances. I can walk, Grayson. There’s nothing wrong with my legs.”

“Not a thing. They’re great.” He kissed her nose. “Haven’t I mentioned that before?”

“I don’t believe you have.” She smiled, despite the fact that he’d bumped her shoulder and the bruises on her chest were aching. It was the thought, after all, that counted. “Well, since you’re playing at being Dark Lord, sweep me inside, then. And I expect to be kissed. Well kissed.”