"Your cheeks are growing hot, Zara." David's voice was deep, but warm.
"Because you're touching me and I'm not sure how to feel about it."
"Do you want me to stop? I will." He paused, his knuckles just grazing under the point of my chin. My body almost clenched with the sudden rush of no!
"I… I don't think so. Not yet."
That single brow arched again, hearing both the encouragement, and the implied threat. But he started moving again and my heart hammered with a heady combination of fear and thrill as he opened those fingers, and watched himself drag the back of them down the line of my neck until he met my collarbones, just above the wide, boatneck bodice Abigail had decided on for today.
I froze.
"I believe we were discussing the language of touch." He stared at his own fingers against my skin. "Touch that is tantalizing, that walks the line but doesn't cross it… that is a question," he whispered.
