Supernatural energy scorched through Jake Maxwell’s foot, surging into his ankle in an inexorable march into the rest of his body. He bit back a gasp. Dawn, the woman he adored, kneeled in front of him at the foot of the hard motel room bed with his foot clasped in both her hands, one palm covering the gash on his sole as she employed her healing skills. Eyes closed, she pursed her lips and grimaced. Another surge of power coursed into him.

He jerked his foot away. “That’s enough.”

She blinked rapidly, focusing in on him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s fine.” He wiggled his foot as if that proved his statement. “You shouldn’t do this, anyway. We have no idea how healing affects you.”

A sweet smile curved her tempting lips. “Please stop worrying. I’m okay.”

“As far as we know. You’ve only had this power for a week.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s the good of having this ability if I can’t help the people I love? Or the person I love.” She muttered under her breath, “I don’t know anybody else.”

His heart ached for her, and he fought the impulse to haul her into his arms for a kiss that would sear them both harder than her healing burned him. He shouldn’t. He’d promised himself to keep her at arm’s length for the time being.

But it drove him batty, looking at her slender, curvy body and not being able to taste her skin or lose himself inside her. One week ago, he’d made love to her — make that ravished her, without a thought for the consequences. Because he loved her. Because she made him feel like a man, instead of a meek grad student. Because she felt so good under him.

“Jake?” Dawn flopped onto the bed next to him, her body close enough he sensed the warmth of her. “Are you sure you’re okay, honey?”

“Don’t call me that. I hate endearments.” He didn’t deserve her tenderness. What good was he when he failed to protect her at every turn?