It seemed he had once again gambled correctly. Really, aside from the assassination attempt - easily dispatched, as such things went - fortune was favoring him tonight. If she was being sarcastic, she wasn't as rattled as she had been, and sarcasm was something he could take - and dish out - in quantity when needed.
"I have to tell you," he drawled, his hand moving from her hair to stroke over her shoulder, then her side, stopping on her hip, "my fantasy life is pretty intense. But usually, even when sharp objects are involved in my daydreams, I stay alive in them. Also in those same fantasies, if you're curious, gorgeous blonde women in my bed aren't usually wearing much in the way of clothes." He found the hem of her shirt, worked his hand under it to explore her side and then the small of her back. "That part, I feel like we can rectify," he suggested.
While her mind yelled no, her body reacted to his more than pleasant touch. Logically, it made sense to hop out of the bed and leave, especially after what had transpired, but something kept her rooted in place. Whatever it was -- desperation, a rare craving for physicality, a need to finish things she started -- fueled the motion of her hand toward his chest, fingertips reaching out to lightly (teasingly) trace one of the tattoos there. Maybe even, if Cian caught onto it, curiously.
"And once we've rectified that?" She was playing dumb for the sake of keeping the mood light, because whether fantasy or reality, this was soon going to set her nerves on fire, and the more he touched her, the greater the chance of her melting into his hands like hot butter. It had been a while-- too long, in fact. Her body, sensitive as it was, was going to betray this, but with any luck, her mouth could buy her some time to recover.