His hands move up my shoulders, and one slides around the back of my neck, threading through the hair at the base of my skull, while the other traces the line of my jaw. I freeze, blinking at him as his thumb skims lightly over my lower lip. He’s staring at it, but I’m not sure he’s really seeing it. His mind seems a million miles away. “It’ll be okay, Harlow,” he murmurs. “No one will hurt you. But you have to trust me on this.”
