"So I've been told. It's a sweet-salty mix. Depends on the activities of the day." He gave her a wink as he shifted in place, looking down to fill his glass again despite it now being all too full. It was a distraction. Andras cleared his throat as he watched Feyre from a lidded gaze and battled with himself. Finally, he leaned against the counter on one elbow lazily.
"Feyre," he said squarely even as that tone of his wobbled trying to remain serious but full of attraction. "You have my full and undivided attention...and I feel it is the gentlemanly thing to do to suggest we change topics to something less virile. I enjoy flirting with you and I don't want you to get the wrong picture of me when we've only just met, but I will be honest I cannot come out from behind this counter." Andras grinned both sheepishly and with embarrassment. Honesty had always been his best policy and he would stick with it, even if it meant sending her away or frightening her off.
He could not stop looking at Feyre stretched on that sofa and imagining rushing over there to slide up her dress and kiss her legs. His mind turned at the idea of pulling her upon him in the arm chair. And he would not admit to quivering when the suggestion to draw her to bed passed his mind's eye. Such attraction had not come across him in a long time; he did not want to ruin it with his lustful antics of the wolf in season.