I scooted to the edge of the counter, my legs dangling one on either side of him. Something inside or me was telling me to stop—but I swept that voice to the far back of my mind.
He spread his hands on the counter, just outside my hips. Tilting his head to one side, he moved closer. His scent, which was all damp dark earth, overwhelmed me.
I inhaled two sharp breaths. No. This wasn't right. Not this, not with Patch. He was frightening. In a good way, yes. But also in a bad way. A very bad way. (9.109-111)