Re: Second Floor Walkway -> Department Store
He didn't want this to turn into a hugging, sharing and caring sort of quickie, so he decided not to answer her on that first point. Whether or not either of them were subject to the rising temperature of various cardiac aspects was not really relevant at the moment, in his opinion. They could talk about other organs, though in that area his was more of a do versus a describe. "You don't really want to talk about our hearts, do you?" Except she'd just brought it up three times so he thought maybe she did. That was a little worrisome. Cliche aside, he didn't want to put the therapists out of business. "I don't talk about feelings on the first date." He would have gone on, said more, but the sandpaper voice got stuck in his throat again.
The smudged eyes tiled down to her face again. He was fighting an irrational irritation bordering on anger, and whatever that perfume was kept driving into his skull, pounding in his ears, diverting hot blood meant for thinking elsewhere. For some reason that pissed him off too. Everything pissed him off. She kept saying things, but he would intentionally restrain the automatic frustration, and the more he did it, the more his pheromone brain noticed it was happening. He was absolutely certain he could kill her in an instant if he wanted to, and he was absolutely sure about that. It was a test of control. His jaw tensed in the cowl. "I have better things to share with you."
He dropped her again the moment she mentioned it, roughly, the cape sweeping to a stop. There was pin-littered carpet underneath them now, racks of multicolored clothing, the leather smell from the shoe department. "Sure I remember."