Page 28 of Beauty and the Thief

Chapter Seven

Her accent wasn’t half bad, Cal mused. He wasn’t about to tell her that—yet—but he was willing to wager she had a natural ear for accents. If he hadn’t given up wagering, that was.

Her cheeks turned pink when he teased her about biting. He liked it when her cheeks turned pink. She was too pale and needed to get out from behind her desk. Fresh air would put color in her cheeks.

“Nothing about you frightens me, Mr. Kelly,” she retorted stiffly.

He believed her. She was no fragile little flower. “Then shall we continue?”

“Fine.” She cleared her throat. “Ireland.”

He nodded. She sounded almost like a native. “Try a phrase.” He thought for a moment. “Say, I think he was walking to the park.”

She arched a brow at him. “I think—”

“No. Drop the h. Oi tink.”

She tried again.

“Better, but drop the g. The Irish aren’t all stiff and straight like the English. Walkin’.”

She tried again. He liked watching her lips curve around the letters. She had pink lips, the bottom one full and fleshy. He wouldn’t mind biting that part of her. “Open your throat,” he said. “And move the r forward in your mouth.”

“How do you know so much about this?” she demanded.

He grinned. “A lifetime of hiding me Irish roots. When I want to sound English,” he continued in what he considered a perfect imitation of the Queen’s English, “I close my throat and imagine a fellow stuck rocks under my tongue.”

She giggled. He would have never imagined she might giggle. “You do sound very proper,” she admitted.

“Sure and your task is to sound less so. Again.”

“I think he was walking—”

He put his hand lightly on her throat, and she flinched back from him.

“I thought you weren’t frightened by me.”

“I haven’t given you leave to touch me, sir.”

He rolled his eyes. “May I?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

He could have guessed that would be her response. “Then open your throat this time. You almost have it, so you do.”

She tried again, and he shook his head. “It’s good, but it wouldn’t fool an Irishman. May I?” He lifted his hand toward the column of her neck again.

“Fine.” She blew out a breath and closed her eyes as though his touch was something she must endure.

Gently, he placed two fingers on either side of her larynx then slid them down along her trachea. “Relax.”

“I can’t relax when you’re touching me.”

He winked at her. “That’s because I’m not touching anywhere interesting.”

She jumped out of her seat. “Mr. Kelly!”

“I’m sorry.” He held up his hands and tried, unsuccessfully to hold back his laughter. “Sure and I couldn’t resist.” He rose. “This is purely instructional. I’ll show you. Put your hands on me throat.”

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