Aveline's breath caught at the hurt in Theron's voice.
"You don't like it when I touch you?" he asked, and the question came out fractured, stripped bare by the ache he was trying and failing to hide.
Something in her chest tightened. She saw it then, the effect of her silence, the way her hesitation had struck him far harder than she had meant it to. Her lips parted at once. "It's not…" she began, but the words failed her before they could form properly.
Theron did not give her time to retreat.
His hand slid into hers, fingers threading through hers with an intimacy that made her pulse stumble. Then, gently but with undeniable intent, he lifted their joined hands and pressed them against the backrest of her chair, both of them trapped there together, close enough that the warmth of his body seemed to reach her before his touch did.
