her palm up, reached up with her fingertip to the palm of his hand, drew it lightly down to his fingertip, and swiveled their hands so they were facing each other, palms touching upright.
She saw the hairs rise on his forearm, and he made a tiny sound.
She couldn’t look at him because she knew what she’d see-a longing that matched her own. Their fingers played together, dancing, saying all that couldn’t be said, and finally her hand curled up, resting cupped in his. He held it gently, lowered it to the tabletop. Warmth enfolded her through his fingers.
“Remember when I said we should wait to be together?” Stevens asked.
She nodded. Remembered that long-ago evening when he’d tried to set some rules.
“I told you I was messed up. I still am,” Lei said.
“I told you something then. It’s still true.”
“What?”
“That if you could work on trusting me, I could work on waiting. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
“Okay.” She looked down at her curled hand resting in the cup of his. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. They don’t call me Hurricane Lei for nothing.”
