She was so close. He was inhaling her perfume and need was rising in him dangerously. “You did more than you should have. You were on your feet most of the night.”

“I feel great.”

“I’m just trying to be careful. Of you.”

“And I’m trying to convince you that I’m totally fine.” She gave him a stern schoolteacher expression. “You can stop treating me like a Ming vase.”

“A what?”

“You’ve been so kind, which is fabulous. But now I need you to hear me when I say that I am fine.”

Warning slithered down his neck. “I hear you, Finley. I just don’t want you to push it—”

“When you say you don’t want me to push it, you’re telling me that you actually didn’t hear me.” She stepped back, looking to the side with a tight profile.

He had no idea how this had turned south. “Finley?”

Her chin swung toward him, and she drew herself tall. “It feels like you’re harboring guilt about what happened on Blood Mountain, and treating me like I’m an invalid is your penance.”

“What? No.”

“You say that, but I think I’m right. It’s as if . . . as if you won’t admit I’m well enough to stand on my own two feet because you’re not done serving your sentence.” She stacked her palms over her heart. “Here I am, thrilled that the balance of power is equal between us again, and there you are, refusing to let that happen.”

“I’m not refusing to let that—”

“Stop trying to earn forgiveness for your sins. They’ve already been forgiven. It’s done!”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“And quit being so . . . so reasonable!” She flung up her hands.

“What?”

“Stop being so perfect all the time. Stop protecting me. Stop coddling me. Stop acting so composed and cautious around me.”

Crap. He loved her, and he needed to make this right. “I . . .”

“Lose your temper, Luke!” Her eyes snapped. “I miss the man who carried me to my bedroom. Remember him? So carry me to the bedroom so that I can shoot you down and tell you that’s not going to happen.”

“No.”

“Right now.”

“No. You’ve had a brain injury and—”

“I’m fine!”

“You’re recuperating—”

“Get out,” she ordered.

“Finley, let’s talk—”

“Get out of my house.” She pointed toward the front door with a trembling finger.

His own anger answered, pushing aside some of the fear. She was kicking him out? After he’d dedicated every minute of the last month to her? Because he was still trying to put her interests first and not throw her progress in the trash?

He stalked from the house. As he crossed to his truck, he heard the front door slam behind him.

As soon as she was alone, Finley turned on her heel and screamed.