“I wouldn’t have guessed a man like you believed in fate.” The gentle caress of his thumb across my throat stifled my breath. “I don’t. That’s what troubles me. I require both precision and predictability.” The way he stared at my lips stirred a restless and wanton ache that had me clenching my thighs. “The whims of fate are an irksome intrusion, and yet …” He canted toward me, as if to kiss me, his lips mere inches from mine. “Who could’ve predicted that one touch of your pounding pulse would be so disarming.”
