I don’t want to play hard to get. I don’t want to pretend like these days apart haven’t been the worst days of my life. It’s taking every morsel of my self-control not to wrap my arms around him—not to give myself over to him, not to inhale that sandalwood scent of his into my bloodstream, not to commit the minty taste of his tongue to memory. I’ve always felt so safe in his arms, like nothing can hurt me. I want to feel that way again. I want to feel the feather’s edge of love in the way he strokes the back of my head or presses his lips to my forehead. Those radiant, blue eyes of his send
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