Olivia Westview
He stood right in front of me, his hand still gripping my arm lightly to steady me. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. His eyes—those piercing, unreadable eyes—were locked on mine, studying my face with an intensity that made my heart slam into my chest.
“James,” I breathed out, my voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. I just stared at him, completely frozen. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. It was like seeing a ghost, except the weight of him, the warmth of his hand still on my arm, was unmistakably real.
He didn’t let go immediately. Instead, his thumb brushed against my skin for a brief second, sending a ripple of heat through my body. And then, as if rea
