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Then she felt his hands on her shoulders, exerting just enough pressure to turn her to face him. He picked up a towel and wrapped it around her hands, gently rubbing them dry.
"How's your eye?" he asked, his lips quirked in a smile.
"My eye?"
"That something that was in it this afternoon--"
Suddenly, Emma remembered. "About this afternoon ... we need to talk ..."
"You're right," Sam interrupted, "there are some things that need saying."
Sam's fingertips brushed the side of her neck, his calluses sending a tingling heat coursing through her. She shifted, pulling herself from his touch.
"I ... can't ... be what you want ..."
"I want a real marriage ..."
Oh, what she wouldn't give to be able to be a real wife to Sam. He was everything she'd ever wanted in a husband. He was handsome, strong and, she admitted to herself, his lean and muscular body was very pleasant to look at. He was a good man, and he would be gentle with her. She had no doubt about that.
He had such patience with his children, and he treated everyone he met with respect. Yes, he'd be a very good husband.
Nothing like Barclay.
Why had he suddenly popped into her brain? But now that he had, she couldn't help but compare the two men. How could she have ever believed she loved Barclay? How could she have gone to such lengths to impress him?
And now, because she was so silly and impulsive, she'd never be able to be a wife to the one man she was falling in love with.
Maybe if Sam loved her he'd be able to see past the scars and the blemished flesh. But he didn't. He was still grieving over Catherine's death. He'd made no pretence about his reasons for marrying Emma.
They had made a bargain, but now he wanted more. He wanted the one thing she couldn't provide without risking his turning from her in disgust and destroying the fragile relationship they'd developed over the past few weeks.
"We had an agreement, Sam."
"That agreement became void this afternoon."
Emma shook her head. "No. It was just a momentary lapse in judgement."
Sam cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up at him. "That was no momentary lapse, and you're kidding yourself if you try to say it was. That was a kiss between a man and a woman. You enjoyed it as much as I did."
"No, I didn't--"
"Stop lying to yourself, Emma. Why can't you admit you feel something for me? Is the thought so terrible?"
Tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill. "No," she whispered. "But I can't..."
"You can't or you won't?"
Silence descended on the kitchen. Finally, she raised her eyes to meet his and said in a firm voice, "I won't. I intend to honor my end of our agreement. I expect you to honor yours."
Sam took a step back. The way his eyes searched her face frightened Emma. Could he see through her firm words to the sadness lurking in her eyes?
"In that case I suppose I should apologize for taking liberties with you this afternoon. It won't happen again."
The lump in Emma's throat made it impossible to speak. All she could do was nod.
"Then I'll say goodnight," Sam muttered a few moments later, then turned and grabbed his hat off the hook behind the door.
Emma turned and immersed her hands back in the dishpan, her tears dripping into the soapy water as she heard the door slam behind her.
