She suddenly found herself fascinated with her breakfast, unwilling to meet the intensity of his gaze. If he was going to ask what happened to get her into all this, she still wasn’t ready to tell him. He reached into his pocket and placed a small vial on the table. “Naptha oil. To remove the dye from your hands.” He leant across the table and brushed a feather-light thumb across her temple. “And from here,” he said, with a smirk.
