It took a deep breath at his words to calm her speeding heart at his words. By some grace of good-fortune her blush didn't deepen, though is showed no signs of fading. She supposed she could suffer the blush so long as it didn't get worse. At least not while he was hovering so close. She found herself wishing that she hadn't pulled her hair back. It made it far too easy for him to see all these little things he wasn't supposed to.
Her hands stayed still over the guitar. The fingers of her right hand stayed still over the neck in a forgotten chord that was never strummed.
"I thought you didn't like it," she began, her eyes lingering over his hands. "My speaking French, anyways." She amended quickly. She had remembered that he said he liked her accent-- right before she harassed him for it. A brief smile twitched at the corners of her lips at the memory of their conversation. Her eyes rose to his again, that smile echoed in the green of her eyes.
"You just want sweet-nothings," she said, though her voice was whisper-soft, "n'est-ce pas?"