"What do you mean?"
I started, "what?"
"when you touch me, what do you mean?"
"That I like you, " I said, and he stared at me long enough to feel uncomfortable, then I looked down and he made a move to the window.
"Don't," I said.
He looked at me again, with so much melting intensity that I almost gasped, then wandered back to the leather chair, sliding into it languidly.
He looked at me suspiciously. I looked back, nervous.
I wondered if he realized just how comfortable he made me with myself, and just how afraid of everything else.