He had met her hard stare with his own, and Morag wondered if this was still a matching of steel will or something else. The bath was now forgotten, the pajamas on the bed untouched. There were a number of things she could do at that junction: push him down onto the mattress behind him, slip her free hand around his waist or around his neck and pull his face to hers, lead him to the bathroom and enjoy that hot water after all. But she didn't do any of them. Instead she stood exactly where she was, and in order to take the pressure off of herself, she would dare him to make a move.
"If you're not going to take this any further," she started, not looking away. "Then I suggest you let go of my wrist."