"I can't." But that wasn't true, was it? Michael shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, and corrected himself. "I don't want to."
This wasn't like him. He could count on one hand the amount of women (or men, for that matter) he'd ever been genuinely attracted to. Aside from undercover relationships for work, which didn't count, and that time he almost married someone else, which he mostly tried not to think about -- Michael had never found it difficult to remain loyal to Fiona. Even when they weren't together. He wasn't tempted by a pretty face or a youthful figure. He didn't really have much of a sex drive on his own, although as a spy he'd gotten good at faking it.
But an emotional connection was something else entirely, and when Michael got wrapped up in one of those, he had a hard time keeping an even keel. He knew that about himself; on the job, he had coping mechanisms and support systems in place to prevent it from derailing the mission. Here, though, he felt naked and vulnerable, unable or just unwilling to steel himself against the steady undercurrent of his attraction.
His hands found their way to Elsa's waist, drifting a bit before settling against her hips. Her dress felt cold under his fingertips. He should have yanked them away, but he didn't. He didn't try to move any closer than he already was, either. He just stood there, gazing down at her silently, afraid to make a move in either direction because it would mean making a choice he couldn't take back.