Читать книгу The Long Shot - Ellen Hartman - Страница 3

Julia clutched his shoulder to keep from crashing into him.

Deacon didn’t flinch, his muscles and balance keeping him rock steady as she gathered herself.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and much too close to her ear. She nodded, the pencil forgotten as she let herself touch him for one or two seconds longer than necessary, sliding her free hand through his thick hair, relishing the contrast of soft silk and hard muscle. He rested a hand on her hip.

“I’m fine.” Julia retreated, giving herself space and trying to settle her nerves. “My mom used to measure us like this on our birthdays. The marks are probably still there inside the front hall closet.”

He rubbed his thumb against his lower lip and she turned her back on him, manufacturing urgency around finding the pencil. To keep herself from touching his lips.