The awareness that I liked his touch was unsettling, but not nearly as unsettling as the urge I had to flip my hand over and entwine my fingers with his. “Shite.” Yanking his hand away, Johnny shifted back to lean against the door, grimacing in what looked like discomfort at the move. His hand automatically shot to his thigh again. “Sorry,” he grunted and it was a noticeably pained sound. Clearing his throat, he added, “I shouldn’t have done that.” “It’s okay,” I whispered, chewing nervously on my bottom lip. “I don’t mind.” He exhaled a hard breath and then ran a hand through his hair with
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