As my hand brushed against Lewis's skin, heat rushed up my arm before I could pull away.
It startled me.
Not just the warmth but how solid he felt, storng, just like the types I read about in books .
I had always assumed that because he used a wheelchair, his body would be fragile. Thin. Easily broken. That was the picture my mind had built without asking permission.
But the truth sat right in front of me.
In spite of the fact that his shirt was open, his body was solid and in control. Because of his dedication, rather than his desire to show off, his shoulders were muscular, and his arms were lean. Neither an excess nor a weakness was present. Everything appeared to be earned. A body that has been trained to obey instinct while still being able to exercise self-control.
He didn't look like someone to be pitied.
He looked dangerous in a quiet way.
My breath hitched. I turned my face away at once.
"I… I didn't mean to," I said, my voice uneven.
