"When I ask for your thoughts, I do genuinely want to know," he says, giving her a pointed look at the deflection--even as he shivers, slightly, at the brush of her fingertips along his chest. "Vulgar and unfit for public consumption as they might be. But fine."

He pretends to think about it, glancing at his watch, ever so slightly playing into the arrogant impression she'd originally had of him, all privilege and polish and aggravation at the disappointment that was his Dante. They know each other better now. "I think we might have time."