She read the file.
“You don’t have to. I only brought you there because the Ulstrum Agency has a luxury box at Citi Field and I wanted to impress you. It worked, too. Because even though the Mets lost—”
“I agreed to a second date.”She smiles, and fuck. The light it brings to her face? It’s like she’s a different woman. One whose past doesn’t define her—or haunt her. “I’m assuming we had the box to ourselves and made out. A lot. Because otherwise, there’s no way I’d sit through an entire game.”
“We did. Until one of the staff walked in on us. Then you refused to let me do more than hold your hand until the seventh inning stretch.”
What am I doing? This is more than assuming a cover identity. Those details weren’t in the file. She’s flirting—and so am I.
“I got you back on the second date, though.” Mischief sparkles in her eyes. “Took you to one of my drawing classes where you had to watch me sketch a very naked, very fit male model for two hours and not say a word.”
“That wasn’t in the file.”
She blushes and closes the distance between us. Her fingers skim the prosthetic, tracing its contours and hard lines before she meets my gaze again. “Because no one knows about those classes. They’re just for me.”
“Then why did you bring me?” Every little thing I learn about her makes me want more. I’m in too deep, and it’s been less than a day.
“I was tired of hiding who I really am.”Her sigh is utterly silent to my ears, but I feel it deep in my chest. “You should know…I’ve never had a normal relationship. Max—”she swallows hard, “—he set me up a few times. Photo ops only. An actor, another model on his way up, one ‘everyman’ he found at a local improv group.”The roll of her eyes and her air quotes tell me exactly what she thought about these fix-ups.
“You can’t tell me youneverdated.”
“When your entire life is a lie, you don’t get close to people, Griff. It’s too dangerous.” That sadness is back in her gaze, and I’ll do anything to chase it away.
Offering her a wry smile, I hold out my hand. When she drapes her fingers over mine, I guide them to my left shoulder. “I’ll make you two promises, Sloane. First? As long as you trust me, I’ll keep you safe.”
“And second?” Her touch is warm and gentle, and an emotion that might just be hope brightens her expression.
“I won’t hide from you. Don’t hide from me.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”Her fingers squeeze my bicep and find the spot where the nerve is mapped to my thumb. It’s the weirdest sensation, and it must show on my face, because she freezes. “What did I do?”
“Nothing, sweetheart.” I cover her hand with mine, and she relaxes slightly. “I was part of a medical trial at Johns Hopkins. The nerves responsible for sensation in your fingers? They run down the arm. Most of the time when a person loses a limb, the nerves…? They freak the fuck out. The body doesn’t understand the hand is gone, and the brain continues to try to send signals through the nerves. You’ve heard of phantom pain?”
Sloane nods.
“That’s where it comes from. But there’s a new procedure called Targeted Sensory Reinnervation that deadens the nerves to specific areas of the upper arm, then remaps the finger and hand nerves to those areas. Your index finger? Just touched what feels like my thumb.”
“Seriously?”
I chuckle and pick up my prosthesis. “Yep. See the contacts in the socket? They send signals to the different locations on my arm when I use my hand.”
“So, last night, I wasn’t imagining it. I squeezed your hand, and you squeezed back.”
“Because I felt it.”
* * *
Ten minutes later,I roll the sleeve from the socket up my arm. “This is enough for most days. The sleeve, the socket, and the liner all work together to keep the prosthetic in place. But if I’m worried about lifting anything heavy or I know it’s going to be a long day, I can reduce the strain on my shoulder by using a harness, too.”
Sloane helps me with the snaps, and despite this being the weirdest interaction I’ve ever had with someone I’m protecting—or anyone outside the medical field—the intimate contact, having her so close her scent invades my nose, and her hands on my skin are the keys to selling this “relationship.”
She’s relaxed now in a way she wasn’t before. Asked all the right questions. Didn’t shy away from touching me.
“And taking it off? Is it harder?”
“Just reverse the steps. If my arm swells—heat, overuse, exhaustion—it’ll hurt. Or the socket won’t want to come free of the liner. But a couple of gentle tugs will do it.”
Sloane takes my hand—the artificial one—and lightly touches each finger. “You can feel all of this?”
