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“Sadly, you’re the only one,” he says, and grabs a tube from his toiletry bag. He squeezes a dollop of cream into his hands and rubs them briskly together.
“Let me do that.” I place a hand on his.
He quirks a chestnut eyebrow. “Okay.”
“Tell me.” I scoop the cream from his palm and smooth it on the scruff of his beard. “What do you feel like when you suspect you’re going to win the hand? When you’re almost sure the other guy is bluffing?” I draw the cream down along his jaw onto that soft area under his chin.
“Relieved.” The artery in his neck throbs under my touch.
“Before relief.” I pick up his razor and run it under the faucet.
“Do you know what you’re doing with that?” He quirks an eyebrow.
“Not really.” I lean in closer. “Trust me?”
“You’re one of the few people I do trust.”
“Good.” I concentrate and draw the razor up across the stubble on his cheeks, shaving in straight lines. A few careful swipes later and I haven’t cut him or killed him. Progress.
“Maybe you’ll be a barber when you grow up,” he says.
“Nope. When you look across the table at your opponent, squaring off at the last person who stands between you and victory and something clicks inside you and you just know—you’ve got ‘em.” I run the blade under the water. “You know that moment?”
“Yes,” he says, his eyes clouding over. “It’s been a while, but I do.”
“Tell me.” I shake the water off the blade. “What’s that feeling?”
“Calm,” he says. “I feel calm.”
“Chin up, please,” I say.
He does.
I angle the blade on the upper part of his throat and continue shaving him. “When’s the last time you felt calm?”
He knits his sexy eyebrows together. “Months ago.”
“Where did calm go?”
“I don’t know. It vanished.” The big muscle in his jaw ticks. I nick him and he flinches.
“Crap. Sorry!” I wet a washcloth, blot the blood, then fold the cloth and blot off what remains of the soap on his face.
“We’ve gotta get to the airport, baby.”
“We’ve got time.” I seize his hand and place it on my throat. “Humor me. Close your eyes.”
He arches his eyebrows but he closes his eyes.
“Tell me what you feel.” Warmth courses through my body. My hands tingle.
“I smell the soap on your skin. You’re making me hard, Evie. We don’t have time for this right now.”
“We have plenty of time.” I’m dying to put my hands on him, not just to undress him or fuck him. I want to heal him. “Tell me what you feel, Dylan. Not what you’re thinking.”
“Fine.” He sighs. “Your skin is soft.”
“What else?”
