He smelled of smoke and a faint tease of sweat, like he’d been running before he got here. They weren’t overwhelming scents, just clinging to him in a nice way.
After another few seconds, I pulled back. His gaze was hooded. I rested a hand to the side of his face. “What happened to you?”
He shook his head, pulling completely away. “I can’t tell you.”
There it was. Again.
“Of course.”
He shot me a look, but didn’t say anything.
I turned to the kitchen. “Do you want a drink?”
“God, yes.”
I could hear how tired he was, and a part of me ached for him. “Tequila? Rum? Something harder?”
He’d gone to the couch, laying his head on the back. He rolled it to look at me. “Whiskey?”
My heart leapt for a brief moment, and I had to pause. It felt right to have him there, sitting on my couch, w
