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Chapter 21

When his glass is empty, he sets it on the coffee table and it takes only a couple heartbeats before he scoots closer. I don’t think he does it intentionally; it’s like he’s pulled to my side. Or maybe he’s the one doing the pulling.

His fingers find their way to my hand, and he traces the outline with his index finger, over the knuckles, then up to my wrist. He holds it in a loose grip, encircling it so that his thumb and middle finger rests against my pulse point. The light touch makes a shiver run down my spine and my heart beat a little faster. Can he feel it?

He buries his face against my shoulder and inhales. “You smell so good.”

My analytical side tells me this situation could be weird, having someone who’s little more than a stranger glued to my side, telling me I smell good, and constantly touching me. But it feels right. Like this is supposed to happen.

I slide my arm around his shoulders, unable to keep my hands off him any longer. “I do?”