There was, suddenly, a pressure against his fingers. It was like a hand, but with none of Stephen’s electric touch, and neither warm nor cold. He glanced down, startled, and saw nothing. Stephen’s hands were demurely folded on his lap. “Is that you?” “It is.” The invisible clasp firmed, stroking his skin. “That’s giving me ideas.” Stephen’s eyes widened. “Not in a church, Lucien.” “I’ll have ideas anywhere I damned well please.”
