Ilaria blinked at him, her heart still stumbling all over itself. "Y-your… uh… hair is dripping," she managed, instantly wanting to throw herself into the nearest moat.
Levan's lips curved, like he was terribly pleased. "Is it?"
"Yeah," she said, trying to sound helpful while her brain was evaporating. "Um, do you… want a towel?"
He looked down at himself, then at her, like the question itself was deeply fascinating. "Did you bring one?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head in embarrassment. "No…"
He stepped closer, just enough that his shadow brushed over her shoes and she had to tilt her chin up. "Well, do you have anything else to offer me, then?"
Her fingers twitched as if they were arguing with her brain whether they should just… do something. "You mean…?"
"Like your hand," he suggested softly. "Or just your company." His voice lowered further, almost conspiratorial. "I find both strangely absorbing today."
