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Her eyebrow went up. “I noticed.”
That made him smile. “Sorry.”
“What a crazy thing to apologize for.” She wished she’d met Hunter six months ago. Hell, six weeks ago.
He shifted his weight until he was sitting straighter, looking down into her eyes. “Thanks, then, for listening.”
Becca could feel him distancing himself, as if he regretted saying so much. She reached up and traced her finger over the piercings along his brow, and he went still. “I never would have figured you for a military brat,” she said.
“My parents were definitely an unlikely pair.”
The metal studs felt warm from his skin. “Did these hurt?”
He shook his head.
“Liar.” She poked at one.
He smiled and caught her wrist. “Are you going to tell me your story?”
Her heart stepped up. Was he talking about Chris? Had he guessed about the Elemental stuff somehow, in their talk about accidents and car crashes?
Hunter reached out to rest his palm against her face, his thumb sliding along her cheekbone until his fingers trailed in her hair. “You know there’s ... talk. About you.” He paused. “Around school.”
Oh. That.
She ducked away. “Yeah, well—”
Hunter caught her chin. “I don’t believe it.”
She almost pushed free of him. “Well, don’t do me any favors.”
“Hey.” One hand secured her wrist, the other holding her face, reminding her how strong he was. “That right there is why I don’t believe it. Any girl who wanted to sleep with half the school wouldn’t pull away when I touch her.”
She couldn’t look at him. “Leave it. It doesn’t matter.”
He didn’t move, but his voice became very careful. “Does it bother you when I touch you?”
“Stop it.” She glared at him, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. “I’m not a victim.”
“Does it?” He didn’t look away.
Her breathing felt too quick, and she didn’t like the way all that heavy emotion had somehow shifted into her. “Do what you want, Hunter.”
He shook his head, very slightly. “What do you want, Becca?”
She wished everything could stand still, that everything could be as simple as his fingers on her wrist, his palm against her cheek.
Hunter shifted on the couch until he had to duck his head to speak to her. She heard her breath tremble in the space between their bodies.
“Do you want me to let you go?” he said.
She shook her head and had to shut her eyes.
He did anyway, releasing her wrist so his hands could touch her face. He traced the shape of her eyes, the arch of her cheekbone, the line of her jaw. His touch was light, reverent almost.
“Is this okay?” he said.
Her traitorous body warmed to his voice, seeking his touch. She opened her eyes. “I’m not broken.”
