“The past is devouring you.” He let out an almost-laugh. “So bold of you, to talk to me that way.” Rough, scarred fingertips touched my face, the contrast between his skin and the touch so stark it made my heart stutter. His gaze lowered, lingering on my mouth. “Do you think I don’t see,” he said, voice low, “that the past is devouring you, too?”
