And there he went again, lowering the octave into his voice. She could almost feel the vibration in his chest from the close proximity. Arms crossed over her chest, reminding herself of self control. She felt his finger graze down his spine, creating obvious series of goose bumps, and her knuckles rubbed over her temple.
"It was private," she corrected, making her attempts at a firm voice. Clearing her throat, she desperately went back to the subject of the painting. "So really, what the hell am I supposed to do with it?"