Amelia had spent years perfecting the art of self-control, but with Andrew, it was slipping through her fingers like sand. She had walked out onto the terrace to clear her mind, to put distance between them, yet here they were—standing too close, his hand still on her wrist, his eyes dark and unreadable.
“I should go back inside,” she murmured, though she made no move to leave.
Andrew’s grip didn’t tighten, but he didn’t let go either. “You’re running away again.”
She exhaled sharply. “I’m not running. I just—”
Before she could finish, the sound of approaching voices from inside the resort made Andrew release her wrist. He took a small step back, shoving his hands into his pockets as if to put space between them.
Amelia let out a slow breath, grateful for the reprieve.
He
