“What are you doing, Gray?” I ask, turning my attention back toward the target. “Distracting,” she says slowly, drawing out the syllables. Her hand brushes my arm again, lightly. So lightly. I smile. “Darling, you’re going to have to do better than that.” “No,” she says coolly, “I don’t think I do.” The tips of her fingers meet my skin. She lets them trail down my arm, stopping at my wrist before making their way back up, painfully slow. Her fingers find their way under the sleeve of my cotton shirt, climbing up and up and— Gone. Her touch vanishes, leaving me aching for her to lay her hands
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