I sink into the leather seat, my head falling back against the headrest. My eyes are squeezed shut, but it doesn't help.
The image is burned behind my eyelids—the nurse's wide eyes, her shocked face, the door closing on her hasty retreat.
God. What is she thinking right now?
What does she think we were doing?
My cheeks are still burning. I take a slow, deep breath, trying to will the embarrassment away.
Then, warmth.
A soft, warm breath brushes my cheek, then my jaw.
My eyes fly open.
Moon's face is inches from mine. So close I can see the faint, darker ring around his irises. So close his breath still lingers on my skin.
I jerk back, pressing myself against the door.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
He pulls back, calm and unhurried, the picture of innocence.
"There was something on your face. I was helping."
"Helping?"
The word is a sharp, disbelieving echo.
"Like that?"
He looks at me, then slowly, deliberately, winks.
