He reached out, unthinking, and she sucked in a breath as his hand met her cheek, stroking along the bone, darting beneath the corner of her jaw. He shifted to his knees, facing her, and she did the same, a mirror game again, her hands floating up to brush a curl back from his forehead. Her thumb lingered beside his temple and he caught her fingers with relief. “What key?” she asked again. A second chance. He shook his head, lips still pressed to her knuckles. “Your art,” he said. Regan, he thought, Regan, this night is stolen, I want grand larceny and this is petty theft.
