When his arm slid around her waist to gently coax her to lay beside him when he complied, Charlotte stiffened perceptibly, unprepared for the action just as much as she was unprepared for the sensations that coarsed through her at such an intimate touch of familiarity.

She couldn't help but give in. Her body betrayed her, she would claim later, her senses left her, she would murmur to herself hours afterwards, but the truth of the matter was that as he slid onto her bed, she had no greater desire than to slip into the crook of his arm beside him.

Closing her eyes as she took in his faint scent, her cheek pressing into his arm, Charlotte felt herself drifting for a moment. She had been stripped of the relaxation and quite contentment his mere presence was giving her then, and with a mind so infused with tension and surpression of emotions, it was a rare instance that allowed her to breathe. To drift. To feel something besides an aching, dull pain.

"I was sure, when your mum asked me to come over, that you wouldn't be here. I thought," he turned his head far enough to look at her, "you were with Leathan."

Opening her eyes, Charlotte met his own before turning against him to study the cieling. A moment's pause and then, "No. I'm not."

Suffice it to say she felt little desire to elaborate on the point of Leathan. The ache from the day before was too fresh on her mind.

And when it seemed she had fallen back into silence, she faintly snorted, "Mum must've chased you down when she saw you."