““My goodness,” she whispered. “Are you truly so afraid of asking for help? It’s that terrifying?” He balked. “I’m not afraid at all.” “I hear you saying that.” She pressed a hand to his shirtfront. “But this frantic, pounding thing in your chest is saying otherwise.” Little minx. There was exactly one reason his blood was pounding, and it had nothing to do with “please.” It had to do with “yes” and ”God, yes” and “just like that, but harder.””
