Anne-Marie’s P.O.VMy mind wars with his words, but my heart wants to believe that he’s not lying. He doesn’t look like he is. Holding my gaze with every bit of sincerity and warmth, he slowly reaches for my right hand. “Okay?” He nods, blinking once, as if wanting me to see into his head. Somehow, I do. He doesn’t seem to be lying. He doesn’t seem like any of those awful guys or Mr. Dawson. He has never seemed like them.My gaze flickers; I lower it and give him a slow nod.He huffs softly and pulls me close, the bags for Maryanne dangling from his grip and bumping against both our legs. When I lift my eyes, his face is right in mine. An amused smile curves his mouth. “You make me so curious about you…” His voice is hoarse, his eyes roaming my face.I’m not breathing.“Will you help with the other bags, so you and I can get some rest for tonight? It’s been a long, emotional night for the two of us. Hasn’t it?”I press my lips together, nod slightly, and slip my hand out of his. Then
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