He shakes his head.
My heart cracks. Or maybe that’s just my feelings. Either way, I’m hurt.
“You okay?” Faint lines fan out from his eyes, around his mouth, on his forehead. None of them could possibly have come from smiling over the years.
Our gazes connect and it zaps me again, a hit of shock or fear, some prescient notion that everything’s about to change. My insides are a mess of embarrassment and hurt. The timing’s all wrong, but my pulse is spiking and my body’s responding and what it wants me to do isrun.
“I…I’m so sorry,” I manage, tamping it all down for the sake of appearances. I sound breathy, though. I want to run and I want him to chase me and it’s never quite come over me like this.
“Grace.” It’s not a question.
I can’t help that it sends a thrill right through me, from my hard-as-nails nipples to the tips of my toes and back up to curl heavily between my legs. “Yeah?” Where’d all the oxygen go?
His head tilts at an angle, giving me a clearer view of crinkled eyes and brows like wings. His neck is thick, his shoulders massive. He isn’t particularly tall—maybe a couple inches over my five foot eight—but height wouldn’t matter to a man so firmly rooted in the ground.
Ofcoursehe didn’t move when I crashed into him. He’s not just made of stone, he probably sucks it straight from the earth’s core, like a tree drinks water from the soil. This man, I’ve decided in the very short time I’ve been in his orbit, is unbreakable, steady, immovable as steel. And maybe just a little bit frightening.
“I’m Liev.”
“Yeah.” I know exactly who you are. “I figured.”
“I would tell y’all to get a room.” Lamé’s voice cuts through the unearthly haze. “But, hell, it’s Kink Camp. Go for it right here.”
20
Liev
She extricatesherself from my hold. Immediately, I miss her.
Grace.
I knew it.
Hell, that first look across the Dungeon, the way the air sizzled hotter. I knew it then.
Close up, she’s absolutely breathtaking. I knew she would be.
She’s tall and slender, dressed in a faded black T-shirt and jeans, with a face that’s long, tragic—a soulful Modigliani, with freckles and two red flags flying high on her cheeks. She’s so beautiful my heart hurts.
In the light of day, her features are shockingly mobile. Alive. I want to stare at her face, that mouth, those crushingly expressive eyes. Even her hair looks electric somehow, the waves alive, almost dancing. I want to spear my fingers into the dark mass and tug.
The second her body ran into mine, mine woke back up. The moment our gazes met wasexplosive.
Now, something’s happened in my chest that I swear is physical. Heartbeats finding a new rhythm.
“Thank you for your help, Grace.” I sound robotic.
She gives a quick, puzzled smile. “Shouldn’t I thank you?”
“I meant this morning. Here. At the coffee shop.”
“Oh. Sure.” A blush works its way up her chest, her neck, to darken her already rosy cheeks. “I hope I didn’t screw up too badly.”
“Of course not. I appreciate the way you jumped right in.” I slide my hand into my back pocket and pull out a couple hundreds I grabbed before setting out.
She steps back, trapped between me and a table, and puts up her hands. “Oh, no. No, I can’t take that.”
I unglue my eyes from her callused palms to frown at the money, then back at her. “Why not?”
