Page 167 of Tell Me Something True

She exhaled shakily. “Oh.”

“Is there more? To this method?”

Nibbling on her lower lip, she nodded. Swallowed. “List four things you can feel.”

“Your hand holding mine,” he said instantly, glad she hadn’t let go of his right hand.

He slid his left hand to her shoulder. Brushed his fingertips up and down the side of her neck. “I feel the softness of your skin.” Lowered his hand to cover hers, still on his chest. “I feel the warmth of your palm through my shirt. And I feel my heart beating.”

“I feel that, too,” she whispered, edging closer. “What are three things you can hear?”

“Your voice. I recognized it,” he admitted, gaze on their hands as he played with her fingers, gliding his touch across the twisted silver ring on her forefinger. “That night at The Cockeyed Chameleon. I knew it was you before I turned around.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get up and walk away without a backward glance.”

“I considered it.” Lifting her hand to his mouth, he met her gaze and admitted yet another truth. “I’m glad I didn’t.”

And he pressed a warm kiss to her palm.

She gasped softly.

“I hear that, too,” he murmured, his lips moving against her palm. “The catch of your breath. The unsteadiness of it. And I can still hear the way you moaned when you came on my tongue.”

That rosy blush deepened, and she shifted, as if she, too, was remembering that exact moment. “You seem to be feeling better. I’m not sure we need to keep going.”

“We should,” he said, settling her hand back on his chest. “In case I’m alone the next time. That way I’ll know what to do.”

She made a humming sound, either of agreement or because he was sliding his hand up her arm, his fingertips skimming along her skin. And when she spoke, her voice was husky. “What are two things you can smell?”

“The rain,” he said, proving he wasn’t only focusing on her. But then he leaned in, pressing his face against the side of her neck. Inhaled. “And your perfume. It’s different,” he added, rubbing his nose up and down the length of her neck, “than what you used to wear.”

She nodded, and a few silky strands of hair above her ear caught on his whiskers, pulling free of her ponytail. “There’s a lot about me that’s different. So many things I needed to change.”

Lifting his head, he tucked those loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I see you. Here. Now. As you are now. Who you are now.” He slid his hand around to cup the back of her neck. “What’s next?”

Eyes locked on his, she licked her lips. “One thing you can taste.”

His heart kicked, hard and heavy in his chest. He remembered their first kiss. The sense of anticipation. The nerves and thrill of finally pressing his mouth to hers. How right it had felt. Like they were destined to be.

He remembered their last kiss. He’d been running late to class and had given her a quick peck on the cheek only to have her stop him as he was opening the door to leave.

She’d kissed him, there, in that doorway, a long, warm, lingering kiss. Then she’d wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. She’d held him. No, she’d clung to him, holding on longer and harder than she’d ever hugged him before.

As if she hadn’t wanted to let him go.

He’d thought that kiss, that embrace meant she was finally opening up to him. That she loved him back.

When what they’d really meant was goodbye.

He hadn’t kissed her since.

Even after everything they’d done, after all the truths she’d shared, the ones he’d confessed, he’d still held back. Too afraid of what a kiss between them would remind him of.

What it would mean.

What it would change.

He dropped his gaze to her mouth. Her lips parted on a soft sound of expectation and he slowly lowered his head, giving her plenty of time to pull away, to stop him if this wasn’t what she wanted, too.

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