Paddy should've known she'd be armed, and when the knife was against his throat, he swallowed hard, his eyes darting between her face and her hand. "Don't be stupid," He murmured, trying to think of a way to get the upper hand back without getting stuck through. He had a knife of his own, as he always did, but it was tucked into the back of his trousers and he didn't want to risk moving his hand, in case she saw. So he had to be cunning.
So he went to what he'd originally dragged her in here for. His hands went to her waist, and began inching the shirt up slowly. "Give me my clothes and I'll let you go." He smirked, fear beginning to dissipate, despite the blade against his skin; she wasn't stupid. She wouldn't kill him like this. Plus, his own self-confidence (self-confidence, not arrogance!) told him she'd be relenting soon enough. His other hand slid around to the back of the trousers, sliding just below the waistband as if to push them off. "I do have a right to take back what's mine, after all..." His voice was low, and he leant in as much as he could without the blade drawing blood, his voice to her ear, a low growl sounding, dangerous but more sexual in nature than anything else. "Not going to fight me, are you, Del?"