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How do I tell him that his hands have been on me for less than a minute and I already know I'll feel their absence when he lets go? That all I want to listen to is the sound of his voice? That I've spent months beside this man, and somehow I've never understood how dangerous it might be for my heart to stand this close to him? To need him close to me, his skin on mine and his soul… his beautiful, gentle, strong soul tangled up with mine.

I look at his handsome face. A drop of seawater slips from his hair and travels slowly down his temple.

I follow it. Over the sharp line of his cheekbone. Along his strong jaw. It gathers beneath his chin, trembles there for a heartbeat, then falls. Straight into the hollow of my collarbone.

And like a match thrown onto spilled gasoline, I catch fire.

I want his mouth right there. I want to know what those lips feel like against my skin. Will they make the burning stop or will that fire grow even stronger?

Oh, God.

“Jude.”

His eyes find mine again.

“Please.” The word breaks out in a whisper.

He swallows. I can feel his chest rising against me, each breath harder than the last.

“What are you asking for here, Nora?” His eyes look different, fragile, like my answer could easily destroy whatever control he has left.

“You,” I whisper.

“Nora.” He shakes his head. But his hands on my waist grip me harder.

I lift one hand from his shoulder and cup his face, turning it gently towards mine.

“Look at me.”

He does. And the look in his eyes nearly brings me to my knees.

“Am I the only one feeling this?”

His jaw works. He searches my face, but he doesn't answer.

“Jude?”

“Nora, don't…” he says quietly. A broken whisper.

“Answer me!” I beg.

Am I alone in this? Am I the only one burning here? Have I imagined every glance, every touch, every moment when the air between us seemed charged with so much power I had to step away?

He doesn’t answer.

Oh, God. Maybe I have.

Maybe he's only holding me because I nearly fell, and I'm standing here practically begging a man to kiss me when all he wants is to get back to his hotel room.

Heat rushes into my face. I let go of him.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…” I look away and try to step back.

His hand shifts against my back, stopping me. Then, so quietly I almost miss it, he speaks.

“You're not.”

I turn towards him. “What?”