it softly, quietly. Her gaze probed his deeply.
He could still see some kind of disconnect as if she was looking, but seeing something only she could see.
âYour back . . . it healed, too?â
âIt did, yes,â he said, not sure why the touch of her hands should be soothing to him. He should be the one trembling or shuddering.
As she splayed her fingers out so her fingertips brushed along his temples as if trying to deepen the connection, he felt a kind of... calm seep into him. âIâm fine,â he said quietly, matching her tone, keeping his gaze intently on hers.
Then she slid her hands to his chest, and his body leaped into awareness so fast, so hard, it almost left him breathless. It definitely left him speechless.
âOnly not here,â she said, still searching his eyes. She pressed her palm against his heart. âNot here.â
He had absolutely no idea what to say to that. Or how to explain the way she was making him feel. She was crazy one second, disturbing the next. Then soothing, then . . . arousing him so swiftly he ached to the point of pain with the need to pull her against him, to cover that mouth, and dear God please, make her close those all-seeing, all-knowing eyes. The compulsion made no sense, but it took every last bit of restraint and control he had not to give in to it.
She lifted her gaze to his, and those clear green eyes were swimming in tears. It was like a punch to the gut, and hurt him in ways that made no sense. He didnât even know her. But it about killed him to see it. What the hell was going on?
His resolve began to crumble, and he lifted his hands to cover hers, still pressed to his chest. âIâm fine, Honey,â he assured her. âJust fine.â
Her hands were cold, which surprised him. They had infused him with so much warmth, with comfort. He felt a fine trembling in her fingers, and noticed the same with her lips. But she didnât say anything; the crazy didnât come back. And, defenses eroding more rapidly than he could restore them, he took a step in, lifting one hand from hers, intent on cupping her cheek, on wiping away the tear there . . . but she slid her hands free, and broke eye contact before he could.
She looked somehow smaller, seemed more fragile, than she had at any point since heâd first laid eyes on her. And he had no earthly clue what to do about it . . . or why the hell it mattered so much.
Something had obviously just happened. To her. To him. Between them. A whole lot of something. As much as heâd like to just walk away and pretend it hadnât, he didnât. Couldnât.
Batshit crazy? Maybe. Okay, certainly. But sheâd gotten under his skin. And inside his head. And into a part of his past only he knew about.
The stunning intensity of his physical response to her was part of it, too. Not just because he wanted to act on it, but because it scared the living hell out of him. Crazy had no part in his life, not for a bizarre moment in his garage, and sure as hell not for a one night stand . . . or anything more. It was not his path, not any longer, and never again. But tell that to his still thrumming body, and his hammering heart.
He needed to figure it out. Figure her out. If he understood what was going on, then he could deal with it. With her. Then heâd get as far away from her as possible. And stay there. Because crazy had no place in his life. He had to believe that. Or go crazy himself.
Chapter 6
H oney kept her gaze averted, trying to come back to full awareness. It was a challenge. Part of her was being pulled toward Dylan and the exceedingly vibrant aura that continued to hover all around him, while another part was silently freaking out at the enormity and complexity of what sheâd just experienced. Still another part of her was struggling mightily to shove all of it aside and simply get a grip on the here and nowâwhich meant not looking at him. And
He could still see some kind of disconnect as if she was looking, but seeing something only she could see.
âYour back . . . it healed, too?â
âIt did, yes,â he said, not sure why the touch of her hands should be soothing to him. He should be the one trembling or shuddering.
As she splayed her fingers out so her fingertips brushed along his temples as if trying to deepen the connection, he felt a kind of... calm seep into him. âIâm fine,â he said quietly, matching her tone, keeping his gaze intently on hers.
Then she slid her hands to his chest, and his body leaped into awareness so fast, so hard, it almost left him breathless. It definitely left him speechless.
âOnly not here,â she said, still searching his eyes. She pressed her palm against his heart. âNot here.â
He had absolutely no idea what to say to that. Or how to explain the way she was making him feel. She was crazy one second, disturbing the next. Then soothing, then . . . arousing him so swiftly he ached to the point of pain with the need to pull her against him, to cover that mouth, and dear God please, make her close those all-seeing, all-knowing eyes. The compulsion made no sense, but it took every last bit of restraint and control he had not to give in to it.
She lifted her gaze to his, and those clear green eyes were swimming in tears. It was like a punch to the gut, and hurt him in ways that made no sense. He didnât even know her. But it about killed him to see it. What the hell was going on?
His resolve began to crumble, and he lifted his hands to cover hers, still pressed to his chest. âIâm fine, Honey,â he assured her. âJust fine.â
Her hands were cold, which surprised him. They had infused him with so much warmth, with comfort. He felt a fine trembling in her fingers, and noticed the same with her lips. But she didnât say anything; the crazy didnât come back. And, defenses eroding more rapidly than he could restore them, he took a step in, lifting one hand from hers, intent on cupping her cheek, on wiping away the tear there . . . but she slid her hands free, and broke eye contact before he could.
She looked somehow smaller, seemed more fragile, than she had at any point since heâd first laid eyes on her. And he had no earthly clue what to do about it . . . or why the hell it mattered so much.
Something had obviously just happened. To her. To him. Between them. A whole lot of something. As much as heâd like to just walk away and pretend it hadnât, he didnât. Couldnât.
Batshit crazy? Maybe. Okay, certainly. But sheâd gotten under his skin. And inside his head. And into a part of his past only he knew about.
The stunning intensity of his physical response to her was part of it, too. Not just because he wanted to act on it, but because it scared the living hell out of him. Crazy had no part in his life, not for a bizarre moment in his garage, and sure as hell not for a one night stand . . . or anything more. It was not his path, not any longer, and never again. But tell that to his still thrumming body, and his hammering heart.
He needed to figure it out. Figure her out. If he understood what was going on, then he could deal with it. With her. Then heâd get as far away from her as possible. And stay there. Because crazy had no place in his life. He had to believe that. Or go crazy himself.
Chapter 6
H oney kept her gaze averted, trying to come back to full awareness. It was a challenge. Part of her was being pulled toward Dylan and the exceedingly vibrant aura that continued to hover all around him, while another part was silently freaking out at the enormity and complexity of what sheâd just experienced. Still another part of her was struggling mightily to shove all of it aside and simply get a grip on the here and nowâwhich meant not looking at him. And
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