Victoire sweeps her thumb over the scars on his hand. "From battle? Or a more personal war, Don Cesare?"
She strides past him, the movement of her hips showing tantalizing flashes of more skin under the hem of her skirt. She looks back over her shoulder through a soft fall of pale hair, "Non. I am far from cold, Monsieur. And I am sure that you can warm me if I become so."