Dallon asked, tracing his finger over the top of my hand, his brilliant blue eyes on my lips. It was very distracting. “I can’t,” I whispered, removing my hand. “When I realized you had those photos of me, I felt... dirty.” “Why? You look beautiful in them.” “I was referring to the one you sent me. I was afraid you might send it somewhere and the idea of other people seeing it terrified me.” “I would never do that,” Dallon said in a voice that sounded like a low growl. “I would never send any of the pictures I took to anyone, and the idea of anyone else seeing that picture in particular absolutely disgusts me. I would never do that to you, Amy. I would never do that to anyone.” I shrugged. “Things happen. Someone could come across them.” “True. I suppose I could die and someone could find them.” I flinched, not wanting to think about him dying. He reached into his bag, pulled out his camera. “Here,” he said, passing it to me. “I haven’t taken any pictures since then.
