Lancet stood from the armchair and crossed the distance between them. Espel watched him approach with that same analytical stillness, her head tilted just slightly, as if she were observing a specimen rather than a man about to kiss her.
She didn't back away when he stopped in front of her, close enough that he could smell the faint, clean scent of her skin — like cool water and something floral, maybe butterflies.
"You need to relax," he said quietly. "You're stiff as a board."
"I am not stiff," she replied, looking very stiff. "I am prepared."
"Prepared and relaxed are two different things." He reached up, slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, and brushed a strand of pink-shaded hair behind her ear. Her skin was cool. "When was the last time someone touched you? And I don't mean like in a fight. I mean romantically or even just with affection."
Espel's brow furrowed. "I don't recall."
