Chapter 27

His body was beautifully made, but Poppy took no pleasure in it. She resented it. She would have preferred a few signs of vulnerability, a touch of softness around the middle, a set of narrow shoulders, anything that would put him at a disadvantage. But he was lean and strong and powerfully proportioned. Still clad in his trousers, Harry came to stand beside the bed. Despite her efforts to appear indifferent, Poppy couldn't stop her fingers from curling into the embroidered sheets.

His hand went to her bare shoulder, his fingertips drifting to her throat and back again. He paused as he found a tiny, nearly invisible scar on her shoulder—the place a stray shotgun pellet had once lodged. "From the accident?" he asked huskily.