The motion was unhurried, almost absentminded, yet he could tell it was anything but accidental. Her fingers rose to her collarbone, brushing lightly against her skin before curling around the thin chain of her necklace. She tugged gently, pulling it taut, the delicate metal shifting against her throat. His eyes followed without hesitation, drawn downward by the invisible tether she had created.
She didn’t look at him when she did it. That was the brilliance of it. She pretended distraction, as though she were adjusting the clasp, straightening the pendant, or indulging in some idle habit. But every slow tug guided his attention lower—down the slope of her neck, past the hollow at her throat, toward the neckline of her blouse that suddenly seemed far too deliberate in its cut. The soft gleam of the chain against her skin was only part of it. The rest was her composure, the way she carried on speaking with that calm, steady tone, never once acknowledging how she was leading his gaze exactly where she wanted it.
Her fingers lingered, circling the pendant, brushing against her chest with careless ease. Each pass of her hand felt like a silent invitation, a temptation draped in subtlety. He tried to pull his eyes away, but the rhythm of her touch—the glint of light on the chain, the faint shift of fabric—pulled him back again and again. She didn’t need to demand his attention; she held it effortlessly, as though she owned his gaze, as though she knew he couldn’t stop watching.
And then, when she finally released the necklace, letting it fall softly against her skin, she looked at him. Just for a moment. Her lips curved slightly, not quite a smile, more of a knowing acknowledgment. She had caught him, as surely as if she had reached out and held his chin in her hand. He realized then that the necklace had never been the point. It was only the excuse. What she had wanted all along was the proof that he would follow.