Page 14 of The Dragon 1
He nodded.
I hesitated, not because I didn’t want to hand it over—but because Ifeltsomething shift the moment his palm opened toward me.
Like a trap being set.
Like I was about to place more than a recorder in his hand.
I gave it to him anyway.
My fingers brushed his.
That’s all.
Oh.
Warmth hit me first. Then, his rough skin. Callused fingertips that dragged against my own just long enough to feel intentional.
My breath snagged in my throat.
His fingers closed around the recorder—and mine—with a subtle press.
I trembled.
He didn’t take that hand away. Instead, he kept it lightly trapped in his grasp and then lowered his gaze to where our hands touched.
Damn.
The warmth of his palm didn’t just touch my skin—it pressed a thumbprint into my soul.
A second later, he raised his view to my mouth and then finally to my eyes.
“Your hands are warm. But your pulse is faster than it should be.”
“O-kay.” I tried to tug my hand back.
He didn’t let go. Instead, his thumb grazed the inside of my wrist.
One slow stroke.
Featherlight.
His velvet voice brushed against me. “Do I make you nervous?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.” He took his hand away and turned the little machine over in his fingers, assessing it. “This is old.”
“It is.” I held out my palm to get it back.
He put it in his pocket.
I blinked. “Are you going to give that back?”
“Probably not,” the corner of his mouth twitched.
“I need that back.”
“Maybe it’s time for a new one.”
