Fourth Touch

In a moment, she'd changed everything, and she was still frozen, disbelieving. In one heartbeat, he was wiping the poker table with her to her chagrin; in the next, she boldly reached out and touched him--touched him.

Nothing happened.

They stared at each other, breathing harshly, neither moving. She could feel the rough texture of his jaw beneath her fingertips (he always had that shadow), but his voice was silent in her head. She could not feel him, be him, understa--

The look on her own face. His startled gasp.

She jerked her hand away—"Ah'm sorry"—and fled.

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