Earlier, when I'd grabbed him too hard, I'd pulled his shirt loose. Now his collar sat crooked, showing a clean line of skin at his neck.
Standing in front of me like this, he looked completely different.
Tall. Solid. Steady.
His legs were long and strong. There was nothing wrong with them at all.
I knew he must have had his reasons, but irritation still bubbled up inside me. Without thinking, I lifted my foot and kicked his thigh.
He didn't even flinch.
Instead, he shifted his weight onto that leg, and the strength beneath my foot was undeniable. Firm. Grounded.
All those times I'd held back. All those nights I'd been careful, afraid of hurting his pride. I hadn't dared to ask. Hadn't dared to touch.
Even when we were close, I'd never gone lower than his chest.
"Lewis," I snapped, "you liar."
He caught my leg easily and hooked it around his waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.
