“And you’re wrong about me. I wouldn’t have waited for all the information—or even proof—if I’d heard you’d been hurt.” This time, I don’t step away when he reaches for me. His arm winds around my waist, and his hand splays on the small of my back to guide us out of the water’s direct spray. The inches between us are both a gift and a curse as he leans in. “I’m not always calm or collected, and I’m never in control when it comes to you.”
