Page 35 of The Way We Touch
Touching her chin, I lift her face so our eyes can meet. Every breath, every heartbeat, draws us closer.
I slide my thumb down the line of her jaw. “Do you still feel that way?”
“Sometimes?” Her brows clench. “I said I’d never dance again, but when I see us, I remember how beautiful we were…” She blinks away, and I can almost see her rebuilding her walls. Her tone changes. “Which is why I’ll say yes to teaching. It’s what Jack does. It’s what all of you do to hold onto what you love, to pass it on to the next generation.”
“Maybe sharing your love can heal the loss?”
Her cheeks flush, and her tongue touches her bottom lip. I was talking about her love of dance, the way I’d been talking about my love of football… I think?
Now I’m not so sure. Is it like Garrett said—something about the night, the quiet, makes it easier to say what’s on your mind.
So I say it.
“You’re very beautiful, and you’re very strong. I think you’ll be an amazing teacher.”
Our bodies are close, and this pull between us is undeniable. It’s been growing since she knocked me on my ass, and now with her sitting on this barstool, her face right at my shoulder, I feel like I can’t resist.
I’m a man of action. I’m used to taking what I want when I want it. Leaning closer, my lips are heavy. I could dip my chin and capture her mouth with mine, but I’d never force her.
She places her palm flat against my stomach, and my muscles tense. Have I ever responded to a woman this way? Have I ever craved someone this much? It’s a low fire simmering in my veins, fueled by the most primitive of urges.
It’s so elemental, it makes me ask questions I’ve never considered before. Was this meant to happen? Is it why I came here?
A door opens upstairs, and the spell breaks. Someone shuffles across the hall overhead, and another door closes. As if waking from a dream, she pulls her hand back abruptly, gathering her laptop to her chest.
“You’d better get some rest.” She slides off the stool not meeting my eyes. “You’ve got another long day tomorrow.”
In her bare feet, her head only reaches the center of my chest. I picture myself sweeping her into my arms as her legs wrap around my waist so gracefully.
My hand is on her upper arm. My intention is for it to be friendly, reassuring, but her skin flushes, and she trembles. Her response is like a drug, and I’m already addicted.
She lifts her chin, and her dark lashes flutter before her eyes meet mine. With a groan, I withdraw my hand.
“You’d better go to bed before I do something I can’t take back.”
“Would you want to take it back?”
“No.” I step away. “Goodnight, Dylan. Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“Goodnight.” Her voice is quiet.
She steps into the dark hall, but hesitates, looking over her shoulder at me once more before disappearing into the darkness.
8
Dylan
Ialmost kissed him.
I wanted to kiss him.
All night, I tossed and turned in my bed wondering if I made a mistake not going for it. What would he have done? Something he wouldn’t want to take back…
A shiver moves through my shoulders, and it definitely was not a mistake to leave. To run is more like it.
I can’t kiss Logan Murphy.
I can’t kiss him because he’s a football player, and even if that excuse is getting pretty weak in the heat of our growing attraction, he’s only here for a little while. Then he’s gone. I don’t want that kind of pain.