From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

I flushed as I tried to pull awayy. He didn’t let go. “I understand yyou’re
probablyy upset—”
“Probablyy?” He laughed.
“All right. You’re definitelyy upset,” I amended. “But I can explain.”
“I sure hope so, because I have so manyy questions,” he said, golden
eyyes glimmering as he stared into mine. “Starting with, how did yyou get
out of yyour room, and ending with whyy in the gods were yyou on the
ledge?”
The last thing I wanted to tell him about was the old servants’
entrance. I tried to put space between us. “You can let me go.”
“I can, but I don’t know if I should. You might do something even
more reckless than climbing out onto a ledge that can’t be more than a
foot wide.”
Myy eyyes narrowed. “I didn’t fall.”
“As if that somehow makes this whole situation better?”
“I didn’t sayy that. I’m just pointing out that I had the situation
completelyy under control.”
Hawke blinked, and then he laughed—he guffawed deeplyy, and the
sound rumbled through me, eliciting a sharp wave of hot, tight shivers.
Thankfullyy, he seemed unaware of the reaction. “You had the situation
under control? I’d hate to see what happens when yyou don’t.”
I said nothing to that because I doubted whatever I would or could sayy
would do me anyy favors. And neither did our proximityy. Like on the Rise,
the wayy he held me against him reminded me of our time at the Red Pearl,
and that was something I didn’t need help remembering. It was hard to
think clearlyy when he held me this close. I wiggled, tryying to slip free, but
it resulted in our lower bodies being more in contact.
Hawke’s arm tightened around me, and his hold felt like it had
changed. As if he were no longer keeping me in place but…but holding
me. Embracing me. Myy stomach dipped as I slowlyy lifted myy gaze to his.
He stared down at me, the lines around his mouth taut as the silence
stretched between us. I knew I should demand that he let me go. Better yyet,
I should make him. I knew how to escape a hold, but I…I didn’t move. Not
even when he lifted his other hand and placed his fingers just below the
mask. Standing here, allowing this, was possiblyy the sweetest torture I’d
ever put myyself through. He hesitated, and I wondered if he was waiting to
see what I’d do, what I would sayy. When I still did nothing, his eyyes