Seeing her react to his words was like seeing a flower bloom. Her soul was bared on her face and the vulnerability of it was a gift he was unworthy to receive. She was beautiful on any day, but in that moment she shattered all his ideas of what feminine perfection was and showed him something deep and heartbreakingly lovely.<br/><br/>At the same moment, his body was reacting, the glimpse of pale skin, her position, her offer, exciting his blood and flesh. He hated his basal instinct, loathed how it made him desire to damage that loveliness, and her trust in the same blow. Why couldn’t she see what he was? Why couldn’t she see how he longed to drag her from her perfect life and sully her?<br/><br/>“Fiona…” He should warn her, tell her what he wanted, desired, craved to do to her. This was not what Master Ryan had brought him here for. A person deserving of his position wouldn’t hold his tongue. But he knew he didn’t deserve to be cosseted in a place like the Teahouse all ready. No matter what the urgent voice said, he couldn’t form the words.<br/><br/>He couldn’t form those words of warning, so he spoke ones that led further down that wicked path. “… Come here.” His words had the softest shake to them, and his hand twisted to cup the side of her neck under her jaw, urging her up to her feet, to join him on the chaise.<br/>