To Dylan’s ears, the whispered word reverberated through the room like a shout. When she’d told him she wanted to come down here, he had hoped this was what she had meant, but he was not going to assume anything. He let her lips touch his, but he did not move. He remembered in vivid detail that night two weeks ago, and this time he wasn’t taking anything for granted. Last time, it had been agony to walk away with his body in anarchy. He wasn’t going to let that happen again. If she wanted him, she had to prove it. Grace’s lips were brushing his as lightly as that flower he’d caressed her with earlier. He parted his lips just enough to encourage, but he did not return her kiss. He closed his eyes, balled his hands into fists, and waited. She lowered her heels to the floor, her hand pressed against the back of his neck, and she expected him to follow her move. He did not. She shifted her weight a bit, doubtful now. “Dylan, is something wrong?” “Wrong?” He tilted back his head and laughed a little.
