The Floodlands I'm doing fine, trying to derail my one track mind

A charmer, he'd proven himself to be, whispering honey-sweet songs in her ear with that baritoned Southern heat. Oh, how she wished that would work on her. What she would not give to be so simple, so easy to please. 
But instead, she could feel her stomach twist into a knot, the reality of her situation slamming into her with unrelenting force as the adrenaline fizzled into clarity. He was a man, she was a woman. There was little more to her than the organs she happened to have; what lied between her legs. She came to a sudden halt at the feeling of his breath on the nape of her neck, hot and menacing and beckoning for her. Artificial and hollow; a predator who had found his prey.

But perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing.

She hid her unease with grace, picking herself back up in one swift move. Shifting to where they faced each other once more, leaning in to brush her cheek under his jaw before peeling herself away to meet his eyes. All part of the same little dance. 
Her ears bend outward, airplaning, as her lips shift into something of a crooked smile, and the songbird sang. 
Do I look like something you should keep secret?