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My eyebrows rise. A job offer? He wants me to tutor his child? Why hadn’t I considered the notion of him being a father? And why does the thought of that make me feel so uncomfortable?
I clear my throat, lower my eyebrows from my hairline, and tilt my head.
“Go on,” I instruct as though he’s one of my students and not the hottest man I’ve ever seen, snakes notwithstanding. I mean, it’s not like I’ve been dreaming about those strong hands touching me all over.
Nope.
Never even considered that. Certainly never dreamed about him or his strong hands.
I clear my throat again.
“Maybe I should start with my name. I’m Gideon,” he says.
“Gideon. I wonder why you didn’t tell me that when we met? Oh, I know! Because you were busy turning me to stone!” I accuse.
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I nearly choke on them.
Why did I say that?
It’s so unlike me. I’m never rude, and certainly not to a potential client.
It’s not that I’m so desperate for work that I grovel (because I’m not, and I would never), but because the world of filthy rich monsters who need specialized tutors for their children is a small one. And clients talk.
If you think rich humans are petty, they ain’t got nothing on immortal beings.
Despite my obvious blunder, Gideon chuckles with apparent self-depreciation. “Exactly. Though in my defense, I was trying to save your life.”
“Hmm.” I make a non-committal humming noise, partly because he’s right and partly because I’m not sure I can trust myself to be nice.
When I say nothing more, he clears his throat. “I have a book I’ve been trying to translate. Since you’re a renowned linguist, I thought you might be able to help.”
“You don’t want me to tutor your children?”
There’s a pause. “I have no children. I want your services for myself.”
I want your services for myself.
Why does that sound so filthy?
“I see.”
“I’d certainly make it worth your while.”
Why does everything he says make me think of sweaty nakedness?
I’m only tempted for a moment because I truly don't need the work. “I’m afraid I can’t help. I don’t do that kind of work. I keep very busy with my regular, long-term tutoring jobs.”
It’s not even a lie.
I don’t consult on individual translations. I never have.
So why am I tempted, if only for a moment? Surely not because he’s sinfully good-looking (even for a monster) and has the striking golden eyes of a tiger.
Eyes that turned you to stone, dumb ass! My helpful inner voice reminds me.
As annoyed with myself as I am with him, I add, with a bit of snark in my voice, “Maybe I can recommend some references that might help. A good English to … what language did you say this manuscript is in?”
“I didn’t.”
