“How the hell would I know?” Josh growled as he lifted the keg of gunpowder from the floor to the counter. His head was aching this morning from a restless, sleepless night spent staring at a book that couldn’t exist, a book that made him feel strangely warm and comforted every time he touched it, a fact that made him very nervous. And thinking about the fact that when he’d touched Kate Dixon yesterday, he’d been nearly swamped with a rush of unexpected and unwanted physical need, hardening his body with a speed that had left him breathless. And he didn’t know which seemed more impossible. Or, he admitted now, which bothered him more. He glanced at Luke, realizing he’d been sharp with the boy for no reason other than he wasn’t very happy about the way his thoughts had been running him in circles all night. “Sorry,” he muttered. And it wasn’t until then that what the boy had said truly registered in his mind.
