Stewing is the last thing I want to be doing when it comes to James. The man already takes up too much space in my head. Especially after our very last exchange, the one ending with him grabbing my hand. If I couldn’t still feel the ghost of his thumb skating up my wrist, I might think I imagined it. His touch was so light, so tender, so UN-James-like that I almost keeled over right there in the warehouse. It sent a thrill through me. Not simply a visceral reaction in every living cell in my body, but his touch woke something up in my mind too, the kind of curiosity I have a hard time turning
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