Example of a Forbidden Touch Scene

He was bandaging her hand. That's all it was supposed to be — a broken glass at the reception, a small cut on her palm, and the best man who happened to have a first aid kit in his car because of course he did. The bride's brother. The best man. Her best friend's wedding. Every reason in the world not to notice the way his fingers moved. "Hold still," he said. He was wrapping gauze around her palm with a precision that suggested practice. Military, she remembered someone saying. Ex-military. "It's just a scratch." "You're bleeding." "Barely." He looked up. They were in the coatroom — a small space crowded with jackets that smelled like perfume and winter. The reception was a muffled bass line through the wall. His thumb was on her pulse point. Both of them knew it. "You should go back," she said. "You're giving a toast in twenty minutes." "I know." He didn't move. His thumb traced a slow circle on the inside of her wrist, just below the gauze. Not the bandaging motion. Something else entirely. "We can't," she whispered. It came out like a question. "I know." "She's my best friend." "He's my brother." "So we can't." "No." His hand came up to her face. Slowly. Giving her every chance to stop him. She didn't stop him. He brushed his thumb along her lower lip, and the room contracted to the size of that single point of contact. "After the wedding," he said. "When it's not their day anymore. Can I take you somewhere?" "Yes." No hesitation. None. He finished the bandage. Smoothed it down. Let go of her hand like it cost him something. They went back to the reception separately. She felt the ghost of his thumb on her lip for the rest of the night.

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