For a long moment, she was quiet. She stared up into those dark eyes, forlorn like a hound who's disappointed his master. Reaching up, she brushed fingers up his neck. "You don't need to be gentle with me," she said, "and don't patronize me. I'm no damsel in distress."
"I'll do whatever you like," he mumbled, slipping a hand around her waist.
She fanned fingers out across his chest and slipped others up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair. "You were never this meek before," she said, tilting her head to one side.
"I was not so terrified before."
She smiled, "What is so different now?"
He glanced away. His eyes went distant. His hand tugged at her shirt, and he bent to kiss at her cheek. "You know how I feel," he whispered.
"So, say it." She shrugged. "If you mean it."
She could do nothing but stare up into his forlorn eyes. They were black in the shadows that fell across his tired features. Distantly, she felt her heart seize in her chest. It hurt to breathe. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and she didn't know why. She shoved at him, but he held onto her, pulled her back with him. Her hands pushed at his chest. Glaring at her fingers against the dark blue of his shirt, she said, "She'll use me against you. She's got a plan. She wants you to..." She swallowed down the words and shook her head.
"I don't care." He brushed fingers through her hair and then tangled them at the base of her skull. Resting his forehead against hers, he whispered, "I'm not letting you go."
She squeezed her eyes shut. "And what if I want to go?"
"That won't change how I feel."
"I'll do whatever you like."
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