Suzy had always been reckless with her impulses. Wilson told her once that her tongue was her sharpest enemy, but tonight it wasn't her tongue that betrayed her. It was her hand.
Her hand. Clutching Gavin's like a drowning person seizing the first branch she could reach.
She knew she was insane, absolutely insane, for doing this. Not because of the horror that would start if anyone noticed, not because of the impropriety of clutching a man's hand beneath the dining table like some desperate lover, but because it was Gavin.
Gavin, of all people.
His hand was rough, calloused, too warm. He tried to tug it free once, but she only clutched tighter. And there was only so much he could do without alerting everyone else.
She needed something solid. Wilson wasn't here. No one was here, and she could feel the walls closing in on her ribcage.
