“What’s happening?” I breathe. He blinks and frowns, and then his gaze shutters. “Shit.” He straightens up, and I want to yell no! “I’m sorry.” He drags a palm down his face. “I lost my head. I wasn’t thinking.” There are a hundred things I want to say. I liked it and do it again come to mind. He takes a step back. Without his body heat, I’m cold. The hunger and urgency are gone from his expression, leaving only his typical cranky surliness. But unlike normal, I don’t feel like teasing him about it. I just feel hurt. An ugly realization hits me—this is exactly how I felt at the airport. What
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