He suppressed another smirk at her answer. There was something telling about the way she was looking up at him – and he ought to have moved back now that she had finished painting his face with blood, but he was enjoying their proximity too much to let it die so easily. And they were relatively removed here from the rest of the hunting party – his gaze drifted sideways as if to be sure of it – but taking advantage of that in the plain light of day was probably too barbaric, even for Miss Blackwood. Instead, Yassine merely lifted a hand to toy musingly with the edge of the gauze veil in the way of her face, letting his fingers brush very lightly over it.
“Tell me more about your worst, Miss Blackwood,” Yassine suggested, voice low. “You must know you saying such a thing only makes me more inclined to try.” He did not know how she wanted to be handled, but surely she had meant it as a challenge. (Most debutantes were not much to handle at all, but there was something unusually confident about her that was a little more intriguing.)
“Tell me more about your worst, Miss Blackwood,” Yassine suggested, voice low. “You must know you saying such a thing only makes me more inclined to try.” He did not know how she wanted to be handled, but surely she had meant it as a challenge. (Most debutantes were not much to handle at all, but there was something unusually confident about her that was a little more intriguing.)
