Mortified that I’d touched him so boldly, I snatch my hand back. “I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I don’t know what came over me.” The blacks of Rip’s eyes, indistinguishable between iris and pupil, look larger right now, like the color is taking over. “You don’t like to be touched. I don’t seem to mind so much.” My cheeks go hot. There’s something there in his voice. A caress that smoothed over its harsh edges and slid over my skin. It scares me, even as it draws me in.
