Damon slowly raised his head, still holding her arm with an irritating nonchalance, as if those words—"I'm not going to try to make you fall in love"—were such a subtle provocation that it would almost go unnoticed.
Almost.
Morgana froze for a split second.
Then she blinked, as if the entire sentence had pierced her defenses before she could raise a proper barrier.
"I don't—" she began, but Damon was already chuckling softly.
"Relax." He guided her a few more steps into the hall. "I'm just making you comfortable."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Comfortable…? You're making me uncomfortable on purpose."
"That's comfortable for you," he retorted, with that lazy smile, "because if I treat you like a demure, fragile lady, you'll rip my throat out."
She opened her mouth to curse him, but an orchestra began to vibrate in the hall, the lights dimming slightly as the blue silk curtains moved with the flow of people. Couples were already beginning to arrange themselves in the center.
