Weight on the bed had him drawing his arm back. Jean was leaning over him, one hand braced on the mattress beside Jeremy’s head. His charcoal dress shirt was only half-buttoned, and Jeremy instinctively followed the line of his throat down to his exposed collarbone. From anyone else this would be an invitation, but this was Jean. Too many others had put their hands on him and shattered his trust. Jeremy couldn’t make the first move here no matter how desperately he wanted to tug a few more buttons loose. Don’t, he warned himself, even as he studied the pale scars crisscrossing on Jean’s skin.
