His left hand rose quickly to where he'd felt the impact.

Again his hand rose to her face, and she didn't pull away this time.

Her hand rose to his shoulder, as if they were about to dance.

The single hand was rising from the sheet of paper on the table.

I watch her hands rise and move like waves on the sea.

The captain clearly knew what he was about, and his left hand rose slowly.

She gasped, and her own hands rose to cover his.

His right hand rose in a simple gesture of authority.

Her hand rose again, hesitated in the art, fell away.

His hands rose and wrapped around the cup, surprising him.