Whether she meant to have the effect or not, her fleeting touches were pulling his mind away from the thing inside his head. His entire body wanted to follow her - and she'd only just touched him. When she pushed him back into the couch cushions behind him, he went without complaint. He wanted to do what she said. Wanted to hear more about her. Hoped that this - this - would be enough.
Her voice compelled him; but it hadn't been... it hadn't been what every other man hears, hadn't been that accent. He hadn't even noticed the accent. No, there was something else, something... He couldn't immediately define it. "The wilds of Oregon until I was 4, then San Francisco. Then Orange County." And his voice told the truth about which location he truly preferred. City life had happened to him, and so he endured it. But a rustic lodge in the wilderness of Oregon was what he called home. He told her as much, through suddenly-gritted teeth.
"And what --" He paused, focused on the sensation of his short fingernails cutting crescents into his palms, and centered himself, and continued: "What brings you to this place that you despise, Ms. St. Giles? Shall you be leaving soon?"
He hoped that she was here for some time. This compelling, unseen woman had more mystery under her skin than he could fathom -- and he had to know all of it.