Eames has no intention of letting her get very far, distance defeating the very purpose at a time like this, but he isn't so needy and not close enough to desperate yet that he'll object to what's really just logical. With the slight, still not really existent space between their mouths, he lets out a low, throaty chuckle, sparing a glance away from her to where her hands are at the buttons of his shirt, watching how she goes. Even that in itself can say a lot, though he'll give it more thought later than he can manage at the moment. To focus on too much else other than her would be doing her a disservice; she's something remarkable, really, lovely and enticing, a woman who seems like so much more than meets the eye — in his opinion, the very best kind. "How do I get you out of this, anyway?" he asks of her dress, tugging absently at the fabric over her hip, taking advantage of the opportunity to bring his hand higher, over her ribs, up to the curve of one breast. "Going to need to take care of that."