“I don’t have an accent.” He slowly raises one brow. “Yeah, you do. It sounds like you’ve got honey in your mouth when you’re talking.” “And it sounds like you have bullshit in yours. Where’s that accent from?” I smile at him before clamping my mouth shut. I never speak like that. I don’t know what has gotten into me. He gives me a smile that is nothing but troublesome. “Yep. Honeysuckle.” “Excuse me?” “You remind me of honeysuckle. Nectar sweet as honey, like the sound of your voice. But the berries are deceiving—poisonous if consumed.” He shrugs playfully. “Beautiful and deadly.”
