Her stare remains fixed on his face, as if she were a living lie detector just waiting for an excuse to throw a punch. Her jaw is firm, expression challenging.
But despite the ferocity in her countenance, she's not gearing up to fight. Not yet. She wants to hear what he has to say first, because there's definitely something unnatural about him. There's not a lot of room for an outright brawl, so she's holding back. If a fight becomes necessary, she'll act. She just needs to know if it's necessary.
His eyes are so bright, and so intense, that she doesn't realize where his hands are going until she feels the warmth on her hips. The expectant stare is momentarily broken, and he's rewarded with a faint blink of surprise as she drops her head to peer at his fingers curling over the stitching of her jeans. The glance doesn't last long; he's too close to ignore.
Even though she's the one with the extra years, his confidence and poise make her feel awkward and inexperienced. Her heart beats a little faster, and her breathing quickens. She's stiff in his grasp, but not afraid, and she doesn't back down.
Green eyes dance back and forth as she studies his face shrewdly. Whatever she's looking for, it doesn't seem to be there, and her hands remain unclenched. "It's a start," she concedes. "But it's not everything I asked."
He may be hedging on account that they're trapped in a closet and possibly being monitored. If that's the case, she might understand his reluctance. For all she knows, he might even be like her, touched with something a little extra and not knowing where it came from. There are just too many questions begging to be answered.
"If I find out you're in any way responsible for my being here," she says slowly, firmly, "I'm gonna be real unhappy." Enough that she might try using his head for a battering ram against the impossible door. But she doesn't know if he's a victim or a perpetrator. In a place like this, it could be either one.
Well, whatever. She's not required to make friends with him, just kiss him for seven minutes.
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But despite the ferocity in her countenance, she's not gearing up to fight. Not yet. She wants to hear what he has to say first, because there's definitely something unnatural about him. There's not a lot of room for an outright brawl, so she's holding back. If a fight becomes necessary, she'll act. She just needs to know if it's necessary.
His eyes are so bright, and so intense, that she doesn't realize where his hands are going until she feels the warmth on her hips. The expectant stare is momentarily broken, and he's rewarded with a faint blink of surprise as she drops her head to peer at his fingers curling over the stitching of her jeans. The glance doesn't last long; he's too close to ignore.
Even though she's the one with the extra years, his confidence and poise make her feel awkward and inexperienced. Her heart beats a little faster, and her breathing quickens. She's stiff in his grasp, but not afraid, and she doesn't back down.
Green eyes dance back and forth as she studies his face shrewdly. Whatever she's looking for, it doesn't seem to be there, and her hands remain unclenched. "It's a start," she concedes. "But it's not everything I asked."
He may be hedging on account that they're trapped in a closet and possibly being monitored. If that's the case, she might understand his reluctance. For all she knows, he might even be like her, touched with something a little extra and not knowing where it came from. There are just too many questions begging to be answered.
"If I find out you're in any way responsible for my being here," she says slowly, firmly, "I'm gonna be real unhappy." Enough that she might try using his head for a battering ram against the impossible door. But she doesn't know if he's a victim or a perpetrator. In a place like this, it could be either one.
Well, whatever. She's not required to make friends with him, just kiss him for seven minutes.