Then he pivoted both of our bodies, coming to stand in front of me with the dining table at my back. My breath snagged as he rested his hands on my sides, his large fingers spanning my hips. He drew in a breath and ducked his head to catch my gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice gentle. “Didn’t mean to lose my shit. Believe it or not, I hardly ever do.” “It’s okay.” I braced my hands on his biceps, stroking lightly with my thumbs. His muscles were taut beneath the warmth of his smooth skin.
