Cold Touch

He'd swallowed hard when he saw her walking toward him, her red coat unbuttoned and flapping in the wind behind her like a sail. When he saw her grab at it and try to wrap it around herself, he suppressed a smile.

It had been all Wyck could do not to jump up and go to her when he'd noticed her in front of the building down the block, even with the British twat at her elbow. Instead, he casually raised a hand in greeting. Like he was so cool and unaffected. Sure.

A distant part of his brain made polite conversation as they sat next to each other on the bench, but most of him studied her. Her cheeks were pink with the cold, and her hair was a riot around her face having mostly escaped the confines of the clip she had tried to tame it with. He clenched his fists to avoid the need to push it behind her ear as he longed to do. His gut clenched a little when he saw the wariness in her eyes. If he could only see that desire and openness in them again.

His attention snapped back to her words