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“I can.”

“Not helpful.”

“I'm not trying to be helpful.”

Clearly.

I take a breath.

“We're getting distracted.”

“Are we?”

“Yes.”

“What was your question?”

He moves closer.

Close enough that I catch his scent. Close enough that the heat from his body reaches mine. Close enough that every memory of the last time I had this man against me comes roaring back with spectacularly bad timing.

Then he reaches for me.

Slowly.

Giving me every opportunity to stop him.

His long fingers brush my jaw. I don't flinch this time. I let him cup my face.

The instant his palm settles against my skin, my magic sighs.

Actually freaking sighs.

Grimm's eyes flare. He feels it too. His thumb drifts over my cheek.

Once.

It’s barely a touch. But after weeks without him, it feels obscenely intimate.

“Wait,” he murmurs. “I remember.”

“Good, because I'm having some difficulty concentrating.”

His mouth curves.

“I noticed.”

“Don't get cocky.”

“Too late.”

I should move away.

I don't.

His thumb traces my lower lip.

Oh, that is dirty.