…fore since they’d first emerged from the parking lot an hour ago to join the mob at the front gate. But then it returned, the soft, intentionally slow brush of fingertips up the back of her left thigh; another touch joined it, someone’s knuckles caressing the pit of her right knee and dragging along the back of her leg. Both of them drifted steadily, unmistakably toward the hem of her checkered skirt, and her breath caught tight in her throat.