Moreau's bright blue irises did not break eye contact for a moment, even though Juan was looking at her as if the man wanted to drink in some statement that had to be seriously elaborated.
It was so odd to find Juan staring straight there, with such a skeptical look on his face. Much to Moreau's consternation, she had repeatedly tapped her fingers on her own lap and also arranged the strands of hair forward so that Juan would not find a reddish mark in the hollow of her neck.
The man would grow suspicious. Moreau didn't want that to happen.
"Can you stop looking at me like that, Juan? I'm uncomfortable."
She spoke, but while adjusting the tapping of her hand into a faint squeeze on the hem of her thick furry coat there.
"Why is that? You owe me many stories, Amiga. Now tell me, where
