Page 48
“Then I shall stop.”
“No.” I laugh softly. “Don’t.”
He takes one step closer.
Then stops.
“May I touch you?”
My breath catches.
I look up.
“Where?”
His gaze drops to my waist.
“Here.”
My heart gives an embarrassing little flutter.
“Yes.”
He settles one enormous hand against my hip.
Gently.
Carefully.
As though he’s holding something precious.
His thumb brushes the fabric of my dress.
“Like this?”
I nod.
“Like that.”
His other hand rises toward my face, then pauses.
I smile.
“Yes, Vidar. You can touch my cheek, too.”
His mouth curves.
“I was going to ask.”
“I know.”
He brushes a loose curl behind my ear.
His fingers linger.
“You’re very patient with me,” he murmurs.
I laugh.
