The Savage Heart by Diana Palmer

wanted—just as Marsh Bailey did not know her heart and mind?
    She wiped at the hot tears on her cheeks with her gloved hand and felt as if her heart would crack. Nursing was no profession for the weak-willed or soft-natured, her father had told her many times. While doctors and nurses had to be compassionate, they also had to be in control of emotion at all times while maintaining a sense of separation from the patient. Otherwise, he’d said, one couldn’t perform one’s tasks. Imagine these poor, sick people depending on a weeping nurse, her father had chided her during an outbreak of diphtheria. She was weeping copiously over a dead infant when he said, “You have to toughen up, Tess, or you’re no good to me.” He hadn’t hugged her or patted her or tried to comfort her in any other way. He’d been stern. “You don’t stop caring—not ever. But you have to wall up your feelings so they don’t interfere with your work. The practice of medicine requires a strong constitution and cool nerve. Now dry those tears and come here. I’m going to need you to hold this young man while I swab out his throat!”
    These memories of the lessons she’d learned from her father’s words and actions helped restore her perspective. Little by little, Tess regained control of herself, so that by the time she finally told Mick to drive her home, she was almost back to her old self. Her red eyes and nose gave her away, of course.
    â€œNow you just go in there and get yourself a good night’s sleep, me dear,” Mick told her, tipping his hat. “Inthe morning, sure, everythin’ will look bright and new again!”
    â€œThanks, Mick,” she said in a subdued tone.
    â€œA good evenin’ to you!”
    He climbed back into the driver’s seat and with a smile and a nod went his way.
    Tess slowly climbed the steps to the front door, and cried out softly when a shadow detached itself from the depths of the porch and confronted her.
    â€œIt’s about time,” Matt said angrily. “Where the hell have you been? Didn’t I tell you to come straight home? For God’s sake, woman, must you put your life in danger just to spite me?”
    She caught the pungent scent of the cigar he’d been smoking, mingling with his cologne. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and his jacket was unbuttoned. He looked furious in the dim light pouring out the long windows of the boardinghouse.
    â€œI had Mick drive me around a bit before I came home,” she said quietly. “I had a long and difficult shift, Matt. Now I’m very tired, and I want to go to bed.”
    He caught her arm in a steely grip as she started past him and held her so close that she could feel the heat of his body.
    â€œYou were off duty at least an hour and a half ago,” he continued relentlessly. “I want to know where you were.”
    She tugged at his grip, but she couldn’t move him. “I don’t have to tell you anything!”
    â€œThe hell you don’t.”
    He pulled her back into the shadows. His arms contracted, riveting her body to his in a contact that shocked her speechless. While she grappled with the implications of the embrace, his head bent and his hard mouth found hers unerringly in the darkness.
    It wasn’t at all how she’d thought her first kiss would feel. He wasn’t gentle or particularly considerate. His lips hurt. His arm encircled her nape, so that the force of his hard mouth pushed her head back against the solid muscle of his upper arm. Her fingers plucked weakly at his sleeve while she stood, frozen against him. Even the pain was sweet after so many long years of dreaming about passionately kissing Matt.
    All at once, the pressure of his mouth eased. Then his lips lifted away from hers. She stared up into the darkness at the blurry outline of his face.
    His breath sounded strained and rough. She felt his free hand