“Here.” “Where’s yours?” “This is mine.” I shook my head. “You take it.” He rolled his eyes and climbed off the bike, making sure it was steady before leaving it to stand in front of me. Without saying a word, he reached up and pulled the band out of my hair. Dark strands fell over my head and his arm, tickling my shoulders. He held out the band, stretching it with his fingers so it was wide. “Here,” he said, gesturing to my hand. I held up my arm and he linked our fingers, sliding the band over onto my wrist. But he didn’t pull away just yet. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around mine, sliding down to circle my wrist where the pad of his thumb brushed over the thin, sensitive flesh on the underside. “I like your hair down,” he murmured, lowering my arm and his hand to step just a fraction closer so he could bury his nose in the hair that fell over my ear. My heart was beating so hard that it was the only thing I could feel. Well, that and the way his even breathing tickled the soft strands and echoed into my ear.
