There is little so tempting as the grace of his touch at her thigh, and she wonders instantly what it would be like if he went from this casual teasing to a more conquering approach. Her own fingers loop in his belt, before she begins to open it with deft expertise, and she doesn't much hesitate when he suggests that his bedroom might not be so grand a sight to see.

Not that this constitutes agreement. She swallows, and her own breath is hot and asking at his throat, and she presumes, as she has done before, that these things are entirely negotiable. He says he thinks she might enjoy the view – she has, in fact, no interest to find herself exposed in front of his window. They are too high up to give a passing stranger a show, yes, and still – there is the slight jerk of her head as she means to judge those overlarge glass panes – the thought of such openness is discomforting. Her voice, then, is low, persuasive. "I have all the view I need in this moment. The rest of the city can wait while we become acquainted."