A large hand closed around his upper arm. The grip hard and harsh, long fingers digging into his muscles. “No.” The hoarse, desperate urgency stopped Oliver short. He looked over his shoulder. All the color had drained from Vincent’s face, his eyes wide with absolute shock and horror. For a long moment, he moved not a muscle. Oliver swore even his chest had gone still. “Vincent?” The man’s gaze dropped to his hold on Oliver’s arm. He blinked, then released him. Vincent brought his arm slowly to his side and flexed his shaking hand. His lashes swept down. “Please don’t leave me again.” Oliver turned from the door. “I’m not leaving you. Just leaving your house for a bit. I’m frustrated and hurt and…” That look of utter fear had not lessened one bit, so he reiterated, “I’m not leaving you, Vincent.” He hoped to God he had not just lied. With all his heart, he prayed it would not come to that, but he had a sinking feeling it just might.
