Every maddening centimetre of him. His bare shoulder tip formed a circle of fire against my own. His hand brushing scorch marks over mine as he moved the fleece and pointed out this and that. The soft brown hairs on his forearm, so close I could count each one. The wash of his breath across my cheek, sending goosebumps crawling down my spine as he talked and talked and talked—the words rattling in my head like scattered pinballs, their meaning eclipsed by waves of sensation, of vibrant, tingling living colour on a greyed-out life. Second by second, Holden was forcing my body to remember,
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