She felt his pulse pounding beneath his ear.
She shouldn’t be touching him like this. His skin was smooth and taut over his clenched jaw.
They hadn’t signed the proper papers. He was without the mustache that she’d imagined.
They were doing this right in front of Mr. Bartlett. Enrique’s nostrils flared as she brushed his nose.
She ran her fingertips along his widow’s peak and over the crease between his brows, lingering over his eyelids, feeling the orbs flit beneath the lids. Somehow she trusted him. “Is your hair black?” she whispered.
“Does it matter to you?”
“If it did, would you lie to me?”
“I would if you wanted me to,” he said.
He was nothing like she’d expected. The discovery made her tremble.