At the feel of a heated mouth against his and the erratic heartbeat under his hands, Libs froze. Nowhere in his head had he expected a reaction like this. His mind, which had been racing to calculate all the possible actions and their counter-actions in the previous fight, had slammed into a solid wall. One moment he was immersed in fighting technique, and the next he didn’t know what to do.
His brain skipped, like a record losing its bearing. Nothing made sense anymore.
Lips urgently pressed upward and a hand slipped over the line of his jaw and into the hair behind his ear, curling there and holding on. A thumb—synthetic, his brain reminded him randomly—caressed his cheekbone.
All at once, options crowded into his head, trying to go over all the information and possible reasoning, urg
