Oz was puzzled but intrigued by how she had pulled back, both verbally and physically. Acts of service, hm? If this had been a more casual affair that phrase might have put him off; unless she was speaking strictly of sexual favors, it seemed to be a lot of work for a woman he didn't particularly care for. Here, though — well, Ozymandias wouldn't commit to saying he cared for her, but he was hooked to the point where he wasn't prepared to be waved off so easily. A bit of effort didn't seem the worst thing in the world. She was worth it.
He may have determined to keep pursuing her, but that didn't mean he knew what his next step should be. She was still blushing, which seemed to indicate her continued interest, but her body language wasn't welcoming him in. Her words were even worse: clear boundaries between her personal life and professional life. Taken without context, he might have heard that as a rejection, but after she'd just led him through the catwalks he refused to take it as such. There had been fire in her fingertips as they trailed across his waist — it hadn't been his imagination or the magic. There was something genuine there.
Ah, of course — she'd smirked from the idea of gifts because she didn't want to give the impression her affections had been bought. That was what he should have read from her blush. She wanted to be treated like a lady; she wanted to be seduced.
Oz could do that.
He crossed to the chaise and lowered himself to his knees at her feet. He leaned one elbow on the cushion next to her and looked up at her with an imploring gaze. "I would be a poor patron if I did anything that jeopardized your passion on the dance floor," he allowed. "But you must be aware of what you've done to me."
He may have determined to keep pursuing her, but that didn't mean he knew what his next step should be. She was still blushing, which seemed to indicate her continued interest, but her body language wasn't welcoming him in. Her words were even worse: clear boundaries between her personal life and professional life. Taken without context, he might have heard that as a rejection, but after she'd just led him through the catwalks he refused to take it as such. There had been fire in her fingertips as they trailed across his waist — it hadn't been his imagination or the magic. There was something genuine there.
Ah, of course — she'd smirked from the idea of gifts because she didn't want to give the impression her affections had been bought. That was what he should have read from her blush. She wanted to be treated like a lady; she wanted to be seduced.
Oz could do that.
He crossed to the chaise and lowered himself to his knees at her feet. He leaned one elbow on the cushion next to her and looked up at her with an imploring gaze. "I would be a poor patron if I did anything that jeopardized your passion on the dance floor," he allowed. "But you must be aware of what you've done to me."
MJ is the light of my life <3