Lucian hates how his eyes lingered on your bare skin. Your jacket had slipped past one of your shoulders, revealing the soft skin that lay underneath. Is this what Victorian men felt like at the sight of a woman's ankle? Jesus, I need to get out more. He exhales shakily, forcing himself to focus on anything other than the sliver of skin that's been revealed. He needed to be discreet about these things. Either that, or he'd have to get you to fix the problem yourself.

His eyes subconsciously flit back to the sight of your uncovered shoulder, and he knows he can't expect his eyes to stop wandering, so he clears his throat, catching your attention.

When you look up at him with your usual unamused expression, his heart picks up its pace a little. What the hell is wrong with me?

For a moment, he blanked, scrambling for a way to tell you to lift up your jacket in a way that kept up that same tension-filled relationship the two of you had while simultaneously getting you to do it. Finally, the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them:

"Cover up your shoulder. You look desperate."