‘Are you working this evening?’ he murmurs into my hair, his arms more a cocoon than a cage around me. I mumble my assent. ‘If I swing by when you’re done,’ he asks haltingly, ‘would you come home with me tonight?’ He releases me and takes a step back so he can pin me with that clear, pale blue gaze. ‘I can’t—I want to move forward with you, but I’m conscious that there’s a lot to say first. There are some things I’d like to show you.’
