He carefully slides her shirt off, and he manages to do it in such a way that his fingers brush along her skin the entire way. While Greta watches him through the mirror, Thomas's eyes are on the task at hand; or rather, on the way the white fabric slides over her skin, revealing it bit by bit until he's left with the shirt in hand. He takes a deeper breath, lets it go slowly, and then leans down to brush a kiss to her bare shoulder.

"Very bold choices, madam," he murmurs against her skin. "I really can't fault you for the style and quality."