“That word is not one traditionally used to describe me.” Pale eyes narrowing, exhale slow through his nose as he focuses more on the sight of her than the sound of her words— or the flex of them. The meaning that they hold.

Incapable of self-reflection, he can only measure her impression of him against the rough shapes of his past. Always, something feels misaligned.

Tonight, he lets that lie.

“But if it means yet more time in your presence, unguarded and unrestrained, then I believe you know already what I ask of you in this moment.” He raises the hem of her shirt, slides his harsh-edged palm beneath it, a difference of inches without crudeness or cruelty. His exploration uniquely patient, now that he knows she will not vanish from his grasp.

“Temptation, you have named yourself in my sight.”