It was forward - too forward, too bold, the way he held her hand and slid his fingertips slowly along her glove. The warmth of his touch was a sharp contrast to the cool her glass had left in the fibers, and she should have pulled away, withdrawn, perhaps even gently rebuked him.<br/><br/>Instead, she lifted her own glass, taking a long sip of the wine to try to cool the heat in her cheeks. It was a heat that threatened to creep all through her, tendrils of it winding around a heart that picked up speed, not quite in time with the distantly heard music.<br/><br/>"Is it true, do you think?" she asked, unable to look away from him, and feeling for the balcony rail to set down her glass; too far, and it tumbled unnoticed into the soft grassy path of the garden below. "Are there spirits and denizens of Tir Nan Og abroad this evening, tricking and bewitching mere mortals such as we?"