Page 69 of Driving Him Wild

her. But then, she surprised me by taking a seat on the sofa, right next to where her other picture lay face up on the coffee table.

Her gaze swept down to it for a moment before she sucked in a long breath and took a sip of coffee.

‘Would you like some breakfast?’ I asked.

She shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I’m not hungry.’

My hands clenched around my mug.

The thought that I’d triggered an early end date for us slashed panic through me. I held it together, joining her on the sofa. I intended to sit next to her, but at the last-minute I sank lower to the floor.

My arm brushed her leg. Breath held, I waited for her move.

Seconds ticked into minutes. We drank our coffee. Then I felt her fingers, whisper-light against my temple. I stilled, barely breathing.

Her fingers slid deeper into my hair, brushing against my scalp in that firm, insistent way that sent shivers down my spine. As I predicted, she gathered the mass at the base of my skull, gripped it in her fist and used the pressure to tilt my head.

Our gazes met. Locked. She pushed. I parried.

She exhaled. ‘Whatever it is you’re doing, it’s not going to work, you know.’

‘I disagree.’

Her grip eased a fraction and I was absurdly terrified she was about to let me go.

‘Tell me about the whales,’ she said.

The whales. My life-changing underwater experience. The most profound moment of my life thus

far.

I denied the deliberate distraction, nudged my head at the picture. ‘Tell me about the last time you felt like that before two nights ago.’

Searing pain clouded her eyes and she shook her head.

‘Tell me,’ I insisted. ‘Lighten your burden by sharing it with me, Graciela.’

She stared at me for several seconds, her expression wavering. She released my hair. And a dark,

thick hollow invaded my stomach. It lingered only for a moment because she touched me again, this

time nudging my head onto her thigh.

I held myself stiff, instinctively sensing she needed the silence to delve beneath the surface of her pain.

CHAPTER EIGHT

HE WAS ASKING the impossible.

Demanding the forbidden. Asking me to rip my chest open, show him my shredded heart? When had

that ever helped?

I had literal proof that it didn’t. Every effort I’d made to connect, tocorrect, had turned to dust.

His hand wrapped around my calf. Warm. Solid.Present.Grounding me for the first time since I came downstairs.

I’d woken up in a wild panic and before I could put my finger on why, my heart was racing. It’d

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