He didn't know when she'd gotten so good at being a tease, but he wasn't about to complain. "You're not at your most rational," he began slowly, his focus really not on his words at all, "when you're angry." This was the reason Much was living next door now. So they could sit on the couch together and not be concerned with who was going to walk through the door.
He knew she knew just what she was doing. In the way she was speaking as well as her actions. The slow, measured way her voice drifted over him. The words really not important at this point. The arm which was around her shoulders shifted up, his fingers sliding in to her hair, his fingers tracing over her scalp. Twenty-first century cleanliness or not, he'd always had a fascination with the incredible softness of her hair, of the feel of it beneath his fingers.