Bill could have told her what her blood pressure was at that moment, if she'd asked. He could hear it; her heart thumping, the carotid artery pulsing with every racing second. But he did her a kindness and didn't stare at her neck, as hypnotizing as it might have been. (Though why he bothered to indulge in such mannerly etiquette was beyond him -- No one ever seemed to appreciate it.)
He leaned back into his own chair.
"Because I'm curious."
He crossed his arms over his chest as she deflected.
"It's actually more of a drawl. The twang is pretty much relegated to Tennessee, Kentucky, northern Texas, and parts of Oklahoma. As a son of the great state of Louisiana, I feel I must distinguish myself from those other southern dialects, particularly the Appalachian region which, I am sad to say, cannot compete with the finer linguistic nuances of my Creole tongue."
He grinned.
"Do I detect a bit of bleach in your roots?"
Alright, so he was a little bit of a smart alec today. But, to be fair, she started it.