The movement was small, almost innocent, yet it carried a weight far heavier than words. She let her fingers slip through her hair, tucking a stray strand behind her ear with deliberate care. It was not vanity—it was communication, a subtle language that he could not ignore. The curve of her neck revealed itself, pale and smooth, lingering in the edge of his vision as if inviting him to imagine the warmth of skin beneath his lips. She didn’t say a word, and she didn’t need to. Her gesture was enough to tell him that she knew exactly what she was doing.
He sat back, shifting in his chair, caught between the boundaries of his vows and the temptation of her presence. The brush of her hair was no accident—it was a dare, a reminder that even silence can seduce. He thought of how many times he had seen women adjust themselves absentmindedly, but this was different. She did it with purpose, slowly enough for him to notice, quickly enough to make him wonder if he imagined it. And that wondering—wasn’t it the spark she wanted to plant inside his mind?
Her eyes lifted to meet his, holding him in that dangerous stillness. She knew he had caught the signal, and she let the corner of her mouth curve in the faintest suggestion of a smile. Nothing spoken, nothing confirmed, yet everything understood. She brushed her hair back, but what she really revealed was her willingness to let him look, to let him think, to let him ache with the knowledge that one small gesture could unravel his control. He felt the pull, stronger than he wanted to admit—and she knew it.