Dorian must have sensed that Audrey wouldn't pull away, because he immediately leaned closer, tending to the cut on her hand with deliberate care. He cleaned the blood with steady precision, gentle enough to avoid any flinch, and wrapped the wound with meticulous attention.
He stood close, close enough that the warmth from his body brushed against her skin. Because he had to bend slightly to see her fingers, a few strands of dark hair fell forward, shadowing the sharp lines of his face. The effect softened him—just slightly—but did nothing to dull the intensity pressing against her senses.
Audrey wasn't used to men standing this near. Not anymore. And certainly not men like him.
