JASMINE'S POV
When Aiden held out his hand to help me out of the car, I hesitated for half a second before taking it. His palm was warm and solid, his fingers curling gently around mine.
But it wasn't his hand that made me catch my breath.
It was the way his hand slid naturally to the small of my back as I stood up, guiding me forward. It felt light, steady, and confident—more intimate in a way I wasn't prepared for.
A small, traitorous shiver chased down my spine at the contact. I told myself it was just the night air. Not him. Not the warmth of his hand, or the way his thumb brushed unconsciously along the curve of my waist as we crossed the street toward the restaurant.
It was nothing.
God, it had to be nothing.
Because the last thing I needed was to think about the dream I'd had hours ago—the one I'd woken from breathless and flushed, with his name still tangled in the sheets around me.
Nope.
Not going there.
