It would have been crazy of him to think for a second that this was going to be easy. Not when he was presented with feminine wiles as artful as hers. Daimon drew back and crossed the room to pluck a book from the shelf. He knew better than to stare into that face -- a second too long would have been his downfall. Rubbing at his chin, he flipped through faded pages, aimless in his steps (but notice how he doesn’t go near her). For a moment it appeared as if he was ignoring Wanda, immersed in his archaic text, until he spoke.
“Agrippa’s De Occulta Philsophia Libri Tres. There’s some correlation between his work and that.” Daimon pointed to the book Wanda had been looking over.” Brow twitching upward, he stepped an inch closer, arms crossed with the book tipped toward her. “I trust you're prepared to discuss these significant comparisons.” The corner of his mouth twitched, though the rest of him remained unmoving. Why yes-- that was how it was going to be.