The next day, Wynne was to bring in the list of infractions for the week. Andrew sat behind his desk, waiting for her to arrive. He hoped his body would cool off before she got there, because ever since yesterday, he hadn't been able to focus on anything except Miranne.
He didn't want to think about anything else. But he had to. His body was distracting him with signals he'd thought long ago dredged out, ripped from him by necessity and brutal training.
The door creaked, and he looked up. It wasn't Wynne.
He wondered why Wynne was putting him in this tenuous position. Perhaps she thought that he was too imposing, and Miranne too meek for anything untoward to ever occur. Whatever the reason, he was grateful to her.
She had sent Miranne with the ledger of infractions for him to look over and deal with as he saw fit.
Miranne floated towards the desk. Oh, no, she was walking. But she always floated when she walked, didn't she? He looked at her solemnly, trying hard to keep his mind where it belonged—on unruly apprentices and misbehaving Templars.
She gazed back at him steadily. "W-wy-wynne wanted me to… to… to give you these," she told him.
"Thank you," he said, and stood up to see her off.
He wracked his brains to try to find a way to keep her there, but nothing came to him. He couldn't discuss the infractions with a student the way he could have with Wynne. What excuse did he have to keep her there?
As he stepped around the desk, intending to hold the door for her, she backpedaled away from him, looking flustered and even slightly unnerved.
She backed into a chair and started to fall. He dodged forward, catching her and pulling her against him. She gasped at him, her eyes wide and surprised.
He cursed the Maker. He cursed the Templar smith. He couldn't feel a damned thing through his armor. He wanted to feel her against him more than he'd ever wanted anything in his entire life.
His head swooped down and he was kissing her before he even realized he'd had the thought. One hand pushed the door shut, the other pulled her closer. Then he tangled his hand in strawberry hair, pulling her closer and delving into her sweet lips.
Kissing was an unforgivable sin.