Carcel simply stood there, his arms now at his sides, his hands fisted. He was, she realized, a man on the very precipice of... something. He was breathing, a little too quickly. And he was, as she had so clinically, rudely, observed, very, very aroused.
He was caught, too.
He had to break the silence.
His voice, when he spoke, was a low, strained, and utterly resigned growl.
"You are… researching," he stated. It was not a question. It was a fact. "And this… this is the next 'part'… of your research."
Ines could not speak. She could only nod, a tiny, jerky movement, not knowing what the next demonstration would be.
He let out a long, slow, shaky breath. It was the sound of a man surrendering.
"Then…" he said, his voice rough. "Learn."
He took her hand.
Not her hand with the papers. Her other hand. The one that had been dangling, uselessly, at her side.
