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“I don’t see the point of this.”
“Are you always this stubborn, lass?”
“I’m not stubborn.”
He gave her a look.
“Fine!” She placed her fingers on either side of his trachea. He said the phrase twice—once with an English accent like hers and once with his Irish accent. He watched her face when he spoke. It was better than thinking about the feel of her soft fingers on him. He was glad he’d shaved this morning. He could feel how soft the pads of her fingers were, how warm and light. He had to concentrate not to think about her fingers moving down and across his chest.
“Can you feel the difference?” he asked. To his own ears, his voice sounded husky, but she seemed lost in concentration.
“I think so.” She pressed her fingers more firmly against his flesh. “Do it once more.”
“My pleasure.” And he repeated the phrase in both accents. This time her eyes widened and all but lit up.
“I do see. Let me try.” She removed her fingers and lifted her chin. He waited but she didn’t speak. Finally, she said, “Aren’t you going to put your fingers on my throat?”
It would have served her better to put her own fingers on her throat, but he wouldn’t argue about touching her. He slid his fingers into place, making certain he did not think about how soft her skin was or how silky or how it would feel under his lips...
“Was that better?”
He hadn’t even heard her. “Again.”
She did it again, and he smiled. “You sound like an Irishwoman, lass.”
“I think I have it. Give me another phrase.”
Reluctantly, he removed his fingers and gave her another phrase, this time one she might use frequently. She tried it with modest success.
“Put your fingers on your throat and see if you can feel when you’re doing it correctly.” She did so, and he moved them up slightly. “If you put them here you can feel when your jaw drops too much. Say Ireland as you usually do and then with the accent.”
She tried it. “Oh, I do see. My jaw drops much less when I say it with the Irish accent.” She hadn’t noticed he’d left his fingers on top of hers, but he removed them now. It would have been a challenge to seduce her, but he hadn’t come here to charm women into his bed. And she, very obviously, didn’t want to be charmed by him. She’d most likely slap him if he tried to kiss her. The problem was that he desperately did want to kiss her. If he couldn’t kiss her, then he wanted a drink, damn it. And he couldn’t have a drink either because once he started drinking, he couldn’t stop. He worried kissing her might have the same addictive effect.
“I think that’s a good start for today,” he said.
Her expression fell. “But we’ve only just begun.”
“And here I thought you couldn’t wait to be rid of me.”
She sighed. “I misjudged you, Mr. Kelly. I thought you had nefarious purposes.”
“I don’t know what the hell nefarious means, but if you’re thinking I don’t want to kiss you—do more than kiss you—you’ve judged me wrong.”
She blew out a breath, but to his surprise she didn’t bristle as usual. “Why do you make it so difficult?”
“What?”
“For me to like you? I try to give you the benefit of the doubt—”
“Sure and I don’t want you to like me if you like me on false pretenses. I’m no gentleman, lass. But I’m willing to wager that were I a gentleman, I’d have the same ideas. I just wouldn’t tell you about them.”
“Then why tell me now?”
Why had he told her? “Maybe I like playing the scoundrel.” He took a step closer to her. “Maybe I like seeing the way your cheeks turn pink when I say something that shocks you.” He reached out to touch her very pink cheek, but she caught his hand.
“Nothing you say shocks me, sir.”
“Then I’ll have to try harder.” He twined his fingers with hers.
