It started with a glance. Just one. But when she held it, when her eyes didn’t flinch, he noticed something else—her lip, gently caught between her teeth.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
Her lip quivered, just slightly, as if it was holding back more than words. And he couldn’t help but wonder what memories she was biting down on.
She shifted in her seat, smoothing the edge of her skirt with careful fingers, but her gaze stayed locked on his.
That lip bite wasn’t nervousness.
It was suggestion.
It was heat disguised as restraint.
Most people see wrinkles and forget what desire looks like. But when she did that—when her lip caught just so—you remembered.
That look in her eyes wasn’t longing.
It was permission.
And that lip?
It said everything her mouth hadn’t yet dared to say.