I scanned him from forehead to chest. Even though I wasn’t on his lap, I was close. The side of my bent leg was flush against his thigh, and I could see every single dab of green and sable in his irises, every freckle dotting his nose andcheekbones.
I was way tooclose.
Heat snaking up my neck, I averted my gaze and wriggled away. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” I asked, getting to myfeet.
August stared at me fixedly, and then I felt a tug behind my navel that had my shins hitting the frame of the couch. I bent at the knees to absorb thelisting.
“I wanted to check if it had affected the link,” hesaid.
Relief surged within me, washing away the awkwardness that had made me shoot to my feet. “Ithasn’t!”
His eyebrows rose. “Why do you look happy about this? Don’t you want itgone?”
I froze like a robber caught mid-theft. From the intensity with which he studied my face, I thought August was going to see right throughme.
“I do,” I lied, dragging my hair back, “but the fact that it’s still there means the Sillin’s not wreaking havoc on your system.” I hoped the excuse sounded believable. “How’s your sense ofsmell?”
Eyebrows still raised, he pulled in a lungful of air. “Still there,too.”
“But is it as strong asbefore?”
He lowered his gaze to the pulse point in my neck. “It’s hard to tell with you standing soclose.”
I didn’t ask him why that was because I understood. I had the same “problem.” When I was close to him, little else penetrated my senses over his woodsy, spicy scent, and the steady drumbeat of his heart, and the sight of his remarkablebody.
I hadn’t taken my dose of Sillin this morning, so my senses were sharpening again. Afraid my frenzied pulse would give away all I was feeling, I took a step back, then rounded the couch and ambled to the kitchen. “What do you feel likeeating?”
August twisted around. “I’m not sure I have much backthere.”
“I found some dried pasta and a jar of tomatosauce.”
“You don’t have to cook. We can orderin.”
“Don’t underestimate my water-boilingskills.”
A smile ghosted over hislips.
“Why are yousmiling?”
“Am I not allowed to smilenow?”
“I was just wondering if it was ashe’s-going-to-burn-down-my-kitchensmile, or a politeis-she-going-to-make-me-eat-undercooked-pastasmile?”
He snorted, and my fingers itched to flick him. “It’s anI’m-relieved-she-doesn’t-hate-my-gutssmile.”
My hands faltered on the jar, and it dropped onto the wooden countertop. Thankfully, the glass didn’t shatter. “I never hated your guts, August. I was scared. I still am. Because, like you, Icare.”
His eyes didn’t turn a brighter shade of green like they usually did, but his gaze scraped across my face with an intensity that made me crouch and pull open one of his cupboards to get out of his line ofsight.
“Now where do you keep your pots andpans?”
32
Isatup so fast my head spun, and August’s apartment swam out of focus. A coverlet slid off my shoulders and pooled onto the floor. I clicked my lids open and shut a few times to clear my eyesight, then looked around forAugust.
He wasn’t on the couch. Maybe he was in hisbed?
The sound of running water had me leaping to my feet, plodding to the bathroom, and knuckling the door. “August?”
