“Next time something’s hurting you,” he said on a guttural growl, “you don’t go wiggling around, ignoring it, or trying to solve it yourself. You tell me. You tell me right away.” He released the closed lid and came around the side of the slicer. His calloused fingers found my chin. My entire body spasmed at the firm yet tender touch. “I don’t care what’s causing it. I don’t care if it’s me. You tell me.” A raw, raging emotion tore through that white gaze. “Especially if it’s me. You tell me, Tasha.”
