Let me go. Athena echoed in her mind, looking into Ewan's desire-filled eyes. Yet she didn't make a move to dislodge Ewan's finger from her face.
Instead, she bit down on her lips, worsening the already messy situation for Ewan, who was battling with the need to just go ahead and kiss her—damning the consequences—and the need of his gentlemanly side, which was advocating that he let her go.
His gentlemanly side didn't want her to regret after everything was done. No. He wanted her to savor, not hate his touch on her.
This saner part won the battle; still he cursed again and again in his mind about his ill luck, before dropping a chaste kiss on her forehead.
Friendly kiss. He mused bitterly, pulling away.
"Yeah, boyfriend Antonio…" He muttered, letting her chin go.
Athena was then able to breathe freely. And breathe, she did—a greedy intake of air, while her hands smoothed out absent creases on her robe.
