Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(85)

“Here?” I questioned, though I realized immediately she was right. The restaurant had a small balcony off the back overlooking the ocean, and the music was soft, sounded like an Italian version of 1940s big band or the equivalent. It would be perfect for slow dancing.

“Yes.” She nodded once, her smile growing and her gaze lowering to my lips. “Or we could save the dancing for our second date and head back to the hotel now.”

I hesitated, debating. Both options seemed selfish. Is this what I could expect from our life together? I suspected every moment with Scarlet, no matter where we were or what we were doing, would feel like an indulgence.

Unable to sit still any longer knowing she could be in my arms, I covered the hand on her lap with mine, entwining our fingers, and pulling her to her feet.

“Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re dancing.”

Reaching the balcony, I took her to the farthest edge, right against the railing where we stood among the stars above and the reflection of moonlight on the water below. I brought her body flush with mine, lifting her arms to my neck, and settled my hands low on her waist. She watched me with a soft smile as I did this, her nails scratching the back of my neck with light pressure.

After a short while of me holding her and our bodies moving to the music, Scarlet said, “Why yes, Billy. I would like to dance instead of heading back to the room quite yet. Thanks for asking.”

My lips curved, pulling to the side. “Is this your way of telling me I’m bossy?”

“No. Why would I tell you? You already know it.”

I chuckled and she grinned, her eyes dropping to my smile. The song was in Italian, a tenor crooning some romantic ballad I didn’t recognize, but I was glad for the slowness of it. Whoever invented the concept of slow dancing was a genius.

Our bodies fit just right, and she was warm and soft. We hadn’t kissed like I’d wanted all day and my fingers flexed at the feel of her swaying in perfect time with me. Restless, I placed a kiss on her upper arm near her shoulder, her glowing skin bathed in starlight.

Her full lips distracted me. They may have been painted red now, but I was intimately familiar with their real color. Maybe slow dancing isn’t such a genius idea.

“Hey,” she whispered, bringing me back to now and the obvious curiosity in her eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

I slid my hands to her back, needing more of her in my arms even as I struggled to think of an appropriate topic of conversation not related to the colors of her body. “How was your week?”

“How was my week? That’s what you were thinking about?”

I held her tighter, torturing myself with her generous curves beneath too many layers of clothes. “Tell me about your week.”

“It was pretty good, all things considered.” Scarlet relaxed against me, though her tone belied confusion. Resting her temple against my jaw, her breath tickled my neck. “I got some work done. Then Jethro, Ashley, and I took the kids to a cashmere goat farm just outside of Radda.”

“A cashmere goat farm?” I smirked despite the way my blood continued to pump through my veins, thick and hot. “Knowing Jet and Ash, yarn must’ve been involved.”

“It was. But the children also got a chance to feed the goats.”

I nodded, asking inanely, “Did you feed the goats?”

Scarlet paused, slanting her chin back as her eyes returned to mine. She searched my face, like this might be a trick question.

“I did,” she finally admitted. “We fed them corn; they ate it out of our hands. It tickled a little.”

“That’s not hard to believe.”

“What? That it tickled?”

“No. That you had them eating out of the palm of your hand.”

Her eyes moved between mine, pale silver by the light of the moon, and a slow, spreading smile claimed her features.

She chuckled, shaking her head and laying her cheek on my chest. “Oh, you’re cute.”

“I’m cute?” It was not the word I was hoping for.

“Very. And for the record, I like this version of Billy Winston. A lot. He’s fun.”

Now I was grinning again. “Good to know.”

“By the way”—her arms slipped from my neck to encircle my chest—“how was your week?”

“Fine, mostly,” I answered honestly, deciding talk of my week would definitely dampen the fire at the base of my spine. “I had a ton of phone calls, trying to fit everyone in before we left.”

“How’s the senate race stuff?”

She couldn’t have picked a less sexy topic. “We’re just in the early planning phases right now,” I said, feeling my body settle. “Fundraising, organizing the community groups. It’ll ramp up after the first of the year, if I decide to actually do it.”

“You haven’t decided?”

“No.”

Scarlet leaned back again, inspecting me. “You look irritated about something, sound irritated too.”

“You picked up on that?”

“I did. What’s wrong?”

I felt my lips flatten. “I have to fire the campaign liaison the party sent. He’s a pain in my ass, but it can wait until I get back.”