Chapter 4: Fifteen Feet

"I was keeping myself out of your room," Declan said. His voice was rough. "I'm not doing a good job."

"You're standing in my hallway."

"That's as close as I could make myself stay."

Fifteen feet of couch and wall hadn't been enough for either of us.

The pull pressed on my sternum, and the only relief was to lean toward him.

I stayed where I was.

"Your hand," he said.

I looked down.

The burn across my palm had come up red and shiny, and I had been holding it against my shirt without noticing.

"It's nothing. The stove."

"Show me."

I held it out.

He took my wrist in one hand, and every nerve I had went to that spot.

His fingers were warm and very careful.

He turned my hand over under the hall light and studied the burn with a frown.

"This needs cold water and aloe."

"I know."

"You didn't do either."

"I was busy burning a dress."

The corner of his mouth moved.

Then he bent his head and put his mouth against the center of my palm.

It wasn't a kiss, exactly.

He just held it there, over the burn, and his breath came out warm against my skin.

The sound I made was small and embarrassing.

He lifted his head.

His eyes had gone fully silver.

"Your eyes," I said.

"I know."

"Is that normal?"

"No." He didn't let go of my wrist. "It's the bond. It doesn't care that you asked for slow."

I told myself it was only the bond too.

I told myself that right up until I stepped forward, grabbed a handful of his shirt, and pulled his mouth down onto mine.

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