Chapter 11: The Power of Touch

I want to lie, but I know there's no point.

"You grabbed my arm when I tried to stand up," I say finally.

"Grabbed it?"

"No - not grabbed. I mean you took my arm. You just... just set your hand there."

He nods. "And then?"

And then what? I don't know where he's going with this, but I'd be squirming if his eyes weren't pinning me to my seat.

"And then you left it there," I say. "You didn't move it."

"I didn't move it at all?" His voice is even, objective, like he's quizzing me on my homework or something. Somehow, that makes this interrogation worse.

"You moved your fingers a couple of times," I say after a moment.

"Which fingers?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do."

He's right, I do. But I'll be damned if I admit it to him. Cheeks flaming, I jerk my arm away from him, and he sits back, seemingly unperturbed.

"Touch is a very powerful tool," he says. "And very intimate. Humans are biologically designed to respond to it. It usually signals attraction or affection - or aggressi