A hand on my arm, getting hotter and hotter with each moment the touch continues. So hot that by the time I turn to face him, I feel as if he’s burning through my clothes. I actually sneak a look down, just to check he isn’t, and then I’m frozen, locked in place by what I see: that elegant, long-fingered hand splayed over my biceps, digging in just a little like he won’t let me get away. Something thrills through me, right down the middle, until my skin seems to crackle and my blood rushes in stormy waves. I let my eyes wander over his hand, his thick wrist, the crisp golden hairs on his
...more
