'I don't know how to cope when you kiss me like that.'
He murmured dazedly, a stupid smile plastered to his face.
Nesta scoffed, hiding the lift of her lips in the corner of her lab coat, as she pushed him away from the fume hood. He stumbled back, gasping and clutching his chest. Dramatic bastard.
'Your inability to cope is a general condition of character, entirely independent of me, Velaris.'
She said dryly, grabbing the cloth and disinfectant and pointedly turning on Rhysand.
'You're so cruel to me, gorgeous.'
'I can be so much worse.'
'You promise?'
He dared, making her heart trip and soul bond dance.
She couldn't help it and glanced behind her, disheartened when she met the back of his head, perfectly coiffed, of course. God help her, she wanted to see him looking at her, in that way he sometimes did when she threw daggers at him. Like he loved the worst of her.
She stood, willing him to turn, just for a moment.
'Stop leering at me, Archeron. I thought you needed the hood for 'important, life-saving' research.'
His ability to sense her eyes on him was uncanny and highly frustrating.
It was a joke. There was a warming teasing tone to his voice. It still rankled her in a way it shouldn't have. In a way he was distinctly talented it.
'Go fuck yourself, Velaris.'