“No.”
That makes my fingers pause. “No?”
His gaze stays on my face. “You’re here.”
My lungs forget what they’re for.
I look back at the wound very fast.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does to me.”
My chest aches.
No one has ever said anything like that to me. No one has ever made me feel like my presence changed the shape of a room.
I finish the stitches, clean around them again, and cover the wound with a sterile pad.
His knuckles are next. I clean the split skin quickly and wrap them with gauze, trying not to think about how big his hand looks in mine.
Then my hands drift back to his shoulder.
I mean to pull away.
I don’t.
His skin is warm beneath my fingertips. Solid. Real. The same body that shielded mine from a bullet.
My thumb brushes the edge of his tattoo.
His breath changes.
Just slightly.
Enough.
I freeze.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“Touching.”
His jaw tightens, but his voice is gentle. “You can touch me, Reina.”
My name in his mouth again.
Soft and rough at the same time.
I lift my eyes.
That is my mistake.
He is so close.
Too close.
