So simple, the clasp of hands. And yet infinite possibilities were born in the small private space between two palms. Reassurance, rescue, protection, promise, fear, or faith. The complex pressure could mean hello, goodbye, thank you, or please. It could open the door to intimacy, an entire seduction woven within the lattice of fingers, the kiss of fingertips, the spark of nerve endings just beneath the skin. If only Vivien understood that in holding her hand, Grant was holding all of her . . . who she was and had been, and all the hopes and struggles and mistakes she couldn’t remember, and
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