Hazel pov
The door clicked shut, and I leaned against it, the cool wood a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating from my skin. My heart was doing something frantic and irregular against my ribs, a trapped bird in a cage it didn't understand.
What was that?
I pressed the back of my hand to my cheek. It was hot—ridiculously hot. Silas hadn't even touched me, not really, but the air in that kitchen had been so thick with... something... that it felt like I'd been physically pushed. The smell of him—cedar and rain and that dark, heavy heat—was still clinging to my hair, to my oversized tee, to the very oxygen I was trying to pull into my lungs.
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. Just a tiny, barely perceptible tremor at the tips of my fingers, but it was there. I curled them
