'...Huh,' thought Quinlan, leaving his hands exactly where they had been filed.
She truly believed it mattered. That was the shape arriving to him while she stripped herself above him with border-guard discipline. The pace was not a preference to her, not a style. Somewhere in that beautiful, lethal head of hers, it was the entire war. If she surrendered one piece of it, one sleeve, one knot, one decision, she would not be the Venomborne Terror.
'So I can't even help her undress, huh,' he mused.
His hands found her thighs instead.
Softly. Just resting there, thumbs drawing two idle arcs along the muscle and the gorgeous purple tattoos, a presence rather than a grip. Her gaze dropped to them and her eyes narrowed.
"Surely this much is legal." He smiled up at her. "I'm letting you prepare everything you need. You do realize I could be on the attack right now, don't you?"
