My skin tingles. My pulse spikes again. A spark of heat moves up my arm.
Declan inhales sharply, his gaze snapping to mine.
My smile wobbles. I am not going to make this into athing. That jolt? That magnetic pull that just shot up my arm? That’s just me being touch-starved and too hopped up on nerves and alcohol to think straight. He’s not staring because he felt it too. He’s only staring because I’m practically drooling into his hand.
Focus, Amanda.
I hover over the curve of his heart line with my index finger. “Whoa, this is rare.”
Declan doesn’t blink. “What?”
“You have a double heart line.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you’re generous, sensitive. You’re passionate. Well, you will be when you find the right person.” I hum under my breath. “You’re going to fall hard, Mr. Thorne, and when you do it’ll be full-on emotional combustion.”
His nostrils flare.
A beat of silence stretches between us.
He’s staring at me like I just said something loaded.
Shit. No. Abort.
I sputter on an exhale, suddenly unable to breathe.
He probably thinks I’m projecting, outlining our possible future. I don’t want him thinking I’m building some whirlwind romance starring the two of us in my head. Or that I’m not capable of keeping this light, surface-level, safe.
I know this is a flirty little game.
And I am not fantasizing about how Declan Thornemight love. If he’s truly like me and put up a strong, confident front online and is really just squishy scared bits on the inside. I’m not imagining what it would feel like to be chosen by a man like him.
Definitely not.
“What else do you see?” he asks, voice rougher now.
I could lie. Could say something cheeky. But his hand is still in mine, warm and open, and for a split second, the air between us feels like the quiet before a storm.
Work. I need to switch to work. Work is safe. Work is boring. Work is not located anywhere near my vagina.
I clear my throat again, but my gaze snags on the lines of his palm I’m trying to ignore. Before I can stop myself, my fingers hover back over them, tracing the air above the creases.
Declan’s voice drops, soft and smoky. “Well?”
He’s watching me like he wants to be read like a smutty little book, and I do that shit for a living.
Another pulse of heat rolls through me, blooming beneath my skin.
I pull back, adjust, pretend to examine a different part of his palm. “Actually, this area has a lot to say.” I swallow, aware that my voice is an octave too high. “Your career line. Very robust. Very…virile.”
Dear God.Virile?
I want to climb into my purse and zip myself inside.
I bite my lip, cheeks flushing, and risk a glance up at him.
Declan’s looking at me, one brow raised, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and heat. “You were telling me about my heart lines.”
