The room fell completely silent. No more scrubbing, not even the soft sound of his wife's breathing, maybe because everything had slipped into the void.
McKenna couldn't take his eyes off her pale, freckled face.
He had meant to touch her again, but the heat that had surged through him earlier made him remain still, seated beside her bed.
The strong presence was gone. There was no real reason to stay, and yet he didn't move.
Especially after what her friend had said, about taking her away if he didn't take proper care of her.
"I must be going mad. It's probably the effect of being here too long," he murmured, lips twitching slightly.
He thought of how easy it would be to walk away. His heart had always been cold–yet somehow, she had stirred something in it.
