Free No Such Thing by Michelle O'Leary

as she realized just how
    much she had missed this, missed close contact with another human being. She had touched her mother while she was in the coma, but it wasn’t the
    same. There was no return pressure, no responding warmth and energy to welcome her, just endless waiting, endless silent suffering. She’d been
    without contact so long that Declan’s gentle clasp felt like a strange and wonderful miracle.
    She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, blinking fiercely to chase away tears. He’d seen enough of her breaking down. Her lack of control
    was appalling and dangerous. If the Institute could see her now, they would yank her back to them in a heartbeat. She was always very careful about shows
    of emotion, but Declan had broken through her guard so easily, his touch an unexpected reminder of her solitude. She swallowed again, this time against a
    surge of guilt. He said he wasn’t afraid of her, but she hadn’t shown him why he should be afraid—he had no idea just how powerful she
    truly was. She should not have taken his hand under false pretenses, but she’d been unable to resist. And she couldn’t regret it. She felt like
    she could stay here forever, feeling his warmth soak into her greedy skin.
    Suddenly realizing that she’d been staring at their clasped hands for quite a while, she jerked her chin up to look at him. He was watching her with
    an odd, glazed aspect to his beautiful eyes, his expression dazed and unfocused. With a frown, she tightened her control on her telenetic talent, but it
    was unnecessary—her power was as tightly bound to her as ever, so she hadn’t slipped and done anything to him. "Declan?"
    "Hmm?"
    "Are you all right?"
    "Yeah," he said with a slight, rough edge to his voice as his eyes slowly focused. When his gaze met hers, a twinkling smile started in his
    sky-blue eyes and spread across his face like sunshine. "I’m great."
    Ryelle gaped at him as her heart jack-knifed and then stumbled along in her chest. She pressed her free hand to her heart, dimly wondering if she was
    having some kind of attack, but unable to dredge up much concern in the blinding light of his smile. The boy was beautiful. How had she not noticed before
    how simply gorgeous he was?
    "Ryelle?" His smile faded and his grip tightened around her fingers as anxiety crept into his expression. "Are you all right?"
    Then his thumb began to move across the back of her hand, slow, gentle strokes that were probably supposed to be soothing, judging by the look on his face.
    A strange tingle shot up her arm from the spot he was caressing, while odd chills appeared in random spots over her skin and unfamiliar warmth spread
    through her middle. The sensations intensified when he leaned closer to her, his brows pulling together over worried eyes. "Ryelle?"
    "I feel strange," she murmured, distracted by the indigo color spiking through his eyes. Amazing.
    "You look a little peaky. Maybe we outta get you up top." He rose to his feet, still holding her hand securely in his.
    The tug on her appendage had her automatically rising to her feet and she was startled to feel her knees wobble a bit. "Yes, that’s probably
    best," she said with a frown. Concentrating on her uncertain balance, she retained her grip on him until she realized that they were outside the
    blind spot. Then she jerked her hand away with a stab of alarm.
    Declan looked down at her with wide eyes, his body frozen with his hand still extended out toward her. Something about his expression bit at her, hurting
    her deep inside. "I’m sorry," she gasped, barely stopping herself from reaching out to take his hand again. "But they—this
    isn’t…private."
    Comprehension dawned on his face. "Oh, right. Sure." He thawed, but she could still see some reserve in the way he moved as he climbed aboard
    the grav-trolley.
    Ryelle followed, baffled by how much pain his distress caused her. The only person who had ever affected her so deeply was her