My whole body felt like it had been tossed in a blender and then microwaved, but I was determined. I had to see him. I had to touch him. Damon was holding me like I was made of glass, but I could feel the tension in him. Like he wasn’t just scared—I mean, yeah, scared—but also… ashamed?
I reached out and cupped his face with my hand, my palm barely steady enough to not shake as I slid my thumb across his cheekbone. His skin was warm. His stubble was rough against my fingers. His eyes were so dark they looked almost black in the dim light of the room.
And then I noticed something.
His lashes were wet.
My brows furrowed and I tilted my head, squinting up at him as I blinked slowly through the fuzz still clouding my vision.
“Were you crying?” I asked softly, staring right into his face l
