He stroked his hand downward, over her bared hip. He gave a helpless groan. God. He wanted to touch every part of her. The tender skin at her wrist, her lips, her hair. Her hair. He wondered if her hair was undone, and whether he dared to reach for the dark, heavy silk of it, twining his fingers round and round. An imprudent idea, he decided. The way this night was going, he would probably poke her in the eye instead.
