"How," she asked, her voice a small, serious whisper, "can a woman make a man feel comfortable… in times like this?"
Carcel, who had been expecting… anything but that… anything but this gentle insane question… broke.
He smiled. It was not his mischievous smile. It was not his pained smile. It was a new, slow, utterly devastating smile of surrender. This woman was going to be the death of him. And he was, he realized with a jolt of terrifying clarity, looking forward to it.
"Comfortable, Ines?" he rumbled, his voice a low, dark, and suddenly very, very amused sound.
He did not answer her question. He simply acted.
He straightened up, his full, towering height returning. And he pulled her.
He grasped her by her upper arms, his hands warm and strong, and lifted her from her crouched position as if she weighed nothing. He brought her to her feet, pulling her forward, into his space, until she was standing directly between his legs.
