Peggy Moreland – Ride A Wild Heart (страница 7)

A wistful smile trembled at her lips as she noticed that his thumb was hooked in the waist of his briefs, a habit of his when he slept that she had often teased him about.

She eased across the room and set the tray on the bedside table, then turned to look down at him, unable to resist this unobserved opportunity to do so. Each feature of his face was so painfully familiar to her, so dear. The roman-shaped nose, the high slash of cheekbone, the faint scar—a parting gift from a bronc he’d ridden—that ran like a railroad track along his right jaw. She had to lace her fingers together to resist the temptation to reach out and touch him.

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