Chapter 7 – Hands I Can't Forget
It started with something small.
So small I almost convinced myself it didn't matter.
A simple brush of fingers.
Accidental… or at least, that's what I told myself at first.
But nothing about him ever felt accidental.
We were standing closer than we should have been, the air between us already heavy with everything neither of us was saying. The street had quieted, the earlier noise fading into a distant hum, leaving behind a silence that felt too intimate, too aware.
I could feel him before he even moved.
That was the strange part.
Like my body had learned his presence before my mind could process it.
And then—
His fingers brushed mine.
Light.
Barely there.
But it was enough.
A sharp breath caught in my throat as the contact sent a sudden wave of heat rushing through me. It wasn't just warmth—it was something deeper, something electric, spreading fast, settling under my skin like it belonged there.
I pulled my hand back almost immediately.
Too fast. Too obvious.
But the feeling didn't leave.
It lingered.
Burning.
I clenched my fingers slightly, as if I could erase it, but it only made me more aware of it.
"Still pretending?" he asked quietly.
His voice was calm, but there was something underneath it—something knowing.
I looked at him, trying to steady my breathing. "Pretending what?"
"That you don't feel this."
My chest tightened.
"This?" I repeated, forcing a small, dismissive shrug. "You barely touched me."
A faint smile tugged at his lips. Not amused—more like… patient.
"That's all it took."
My heart skipped.
I hated how confident he sounded.
Hated how easily he said things I was trying so hard to deny.
"You're imagining things," I said, turning slightly, creating a bit of distance between us.
But even that felt pointless.
Because distance didn't seem to work with him.
Not really.
He didn't move right away. He just watched me, his gaze steady, almost thoughtful, like he was taking in every reaction, every small shift in my expression.
"You keep trying to make it smaller than it is," he said after a moment.
"And you keep trying to make it bigger," I shot back.
"Because it is."
The certainty in his voice made my stomach tighten.
I turned fully to face him again, crossing my arms lightly. "You don't get to decide that."
"No," he agreed easily. "But I can see it."
My breath caught slightly.
"See what?"
He stepped closer.
Not fast. Not sudden.
But enough.
Enough to make my pulse start racing again.
"This," he said softly, his eyes locked onto mine.
I held his gaze, refusing to look away this time.
Even though it made everything worse.
Because the longer I looked at him, the harder it became to think clearly.
"You're reacting," he continued, his voice quieter now. "Every time I get close. Every time I touch you. You can't hide that."
"I'm not reacting," I said quickly.
Another lie.
And again—he knew it.
"Then prove it," he said.
The challenge hung in the air between us.
Simple.
Direct.
Dangerous.
I frowned slightly. "Prove what?"
"That it doesn't affect you."
My heart started beating faster.
I shouldn't have asked.
But now that I had…
I couldn't just walk away.
"That's easy," I said, even though it didn't feel easy at all.
"Good."
He lifted his hand slowly.
This time, there was no pretending it was accidental.
No confusion.
No misunderstanding.
Every movement was deliberate.
Controlled.
He gave me time to react.
Time to step back.
Time to stop him.
But I didn't move.
I stayed exactly where I was.
And that was my mistake.
His fingers reached mine again—this time slower, more intentional.
The moment our skin met, the reaction was immediate.
Stronger than before.
Deeper.
A sharp inhale escaped me before I could stop it, my body responding in a way I couldn't control. Heat spread instantly, my pulse jumping beneath the contact, my thoughts scattering.
And he didn't move his hand away.
He let it stay there.
Let me feel it.
Every second of it.
"Nothing?" he asked quietly.
I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself.
"Nothing," I forced out.
But my voice betrayed me.
Soft.
Unsteady.
Not convincing at all.
His thumb shifted slightly against my hand—just a small movement, barely anything.
But it was enough to send another wave of sensation through me, sharper this time, making it harder to breathe.
My fingers twitched instinctively.
And instead of pulling away…
They stayed.
Curled slightly against his.
The realization hit me instantly.
And it hit hard.
I wasn't stopping him.
I wasn't pulling away.
I was letting it happen.
Worse—
A part of me didn't want it to stop.
"Kayla," he said softly.
My name sounded different again.
Not teasing.
Not challenging.
Something else.
Something deeper.
I looked up at him, my heart pounding in my chest.
"You're still here," he added quietly.
I didn't respond.
Because I didn't know how to explain it.
Didn't know how to explain why I hadn't stepped back.
Why I hadn't stopped him.
Why I was standing there, letting this happen, even though every logical part of me was telling me I shouldn't.
"You can walk away," he said.
The words surprised me.
I blinked slightly. "What?"
"You can walk away," he repeated, his gaze steady. "Right now."
My breath caught.
The choice.
He was giving me the choice.
And suddenly, everything felt heavier.
Because now…
I couldn't pretend I didn't have control.
Now it was clear.
I could leave.
I could step back.
I could end this moment.
All I had to do was move.
But I didn't.
I stayed exactly where I was.
My fingers still resting against his.
My heart still racing.
My thoughts still spinning.
His gaze softened slightly, like he already knew what my answer would be before I even made it.
"That's what I thought," he murmured.
Something in my chest tightened.
Not frustration.
Not anger.
Something else.
Something closer to realization.
Because he wasn't forcing anything.
He wasn't pushing me.
He was just… there.
And I was the one choosing to stay.
That truth settled heavily inside me.
And it changed something.
I slowly pulled my hand back this time, not out of panic—but because I needed space to think. To breathe.
But the absence of his touch didn't make things better.
It made it worse.
Because now I could feel exactly how much it had affected me.
"How do you do that?" I asked quietly.
"Do what?"
"Make everything feel like this," I said, gesturing slightly between us.
He watched me for a moment before answering.
"I don't," he said.
I frowned slightly.
"You do," I insisted.
He shook his head slowly. "No, Kayla… we do."
The words landed deeper than anything else he had said.
Because they carried something I hadn't expected.
Not control.
Not dominance.
But connection.
And that was far more dangerous.
I looked away briefly, my thoughts racing.
This wasn't just about him anymore.
It wasn't just about the way he spoke or the way he looked at me.
It was about how I responded.
How I reacted.
How I felt.
And for the first time…
I couldn't blame it all on him.
That realization scared me more than anything else.
Because it meant this wasn't something I could just walk away from.
Not easily.
Not cleanly.
Not without leaving a part of myself behind.
I took a slow breath, trying to steady the chaos inside me.
"This is getting complicated," I said quietly.
A faint smile touched his lips again. "It already was."
I let out a soft, almost breathless laugh.
And just like that…
I knew.
This wasn't going to be simple.
It wasn't going to be easy.
And it definitely wasn't going to end anytime soon.
Because his touch—
Even something as small as that—
Was already something I couldn't forget.