"Aren't you afraid of me?" Philip's husky voice carried the gentle stir of an ocean breeze. From this close, he could see just how flawless her pale, delicate face really was. Her long, curled lashes cast faint shadows on her cheeks, fluttering with each blink.
"Afraid of what?" Janet's hands rested lightly on his stiff legs. She could feel the cold, unyielding hardness beneath the blanket—like two iron bars, completely devoid of warmth. But when she looked up into his deep blue eyes, the feeling of unfamiliarity between them seemed to fade. Maybe it was because they both carried a similar sadness—one that made her feel more pity than fear.
He must be in so much pain, she thought.
"I'm a cripple," Philip said quietly, watching for any flicker of discomfort on Janet's calm face. But instead, her composure stirred something inside him, like a pebble dropped into still water.
