“Goat’s milk soap,” she corrected. “And, yes, I need to get back to work.”
He let her stand, easily rising with her. “I can help.”
“But…” She hesitated as he got closer, looking up at him as he loomed taller. “There’s nothing for you to do. It’s a one-person job.”
“Then I’ll watch and inspire.”
She made a face of pure disgust. “How on earth am I going to get rid of you? Don’t you have something else to do? Sell buildings? Count your money? Play with your Niners?”
He shook his head, slipping his arm around her. “Nope. You’re all I’ve got this week.”
“Lucky me.” She snorted with derision, but he could tell she didn’t mean it, not the way she was looking at him. “I wish you were real, Elliott Becker. You’re funny and great-looking and kiss like a dream.”
“I am real. What do I have to do to prove that to you?”
She pressed a little more into him, her curves fitting nicely against him, her upturned face as beautiful as any view around him. “Kiss me again.”
“With pleasure.” Lowering his head, he tightened his embrace and kissed her mouth, lifting her up to her tiptoes and into his body. This time he didn’t let go, opening his lips and letting their tongues curl and collide, dragging his hand down her spine to settle low on her back and press a little more.
She let out a tiny moan of pleasure, and her fingers tightened on his arms. Both of their hips rocked imperceptibly toward each other in a natural, ancient, raw movement that neither one could have stopped if they’d wanted to.
Blood thrummed from his head to his lower half, and her body shuddered at the first pressure of his.
Finally, before he grew so hard he couldn’t hide it, he let her go.
“How’d that feel, goat girl?”
“Real.”
He gave a smug smile and took her home.
Chapter Eight
On any other day, Frankie found the process of making soap from her goat’s milk relaxing and pleasurable. Today, with Elliott right behind her, glued like a shadow, taking every chance to touch or bump or make body contact, she was anything but relaxed. Each touch was electrifying.
Ozzie circled Elliott’s feet, staying as close as possible while the goats positioned themselves around the kitchen area of the milking shed, mostly content to watch. Not Elliott. He wanted to be right on her heels—or ass, to be more precise—nosing over her shoulder, asking clueless questions, making her...jittery.
He practically kissed her ear as he leaned over her to watch her stir the lye into the mixture.
“Back away or you’ll get burned,” she warned.
But of course he didn’t. “Is that stuff making the soap hot?”
“Kind of.” Like he was doing to her. Ugh. She had to give him something to do or she’d melt like the waxy soap ball. “What are you good at, Elliott?”
“Besides everything?”
She laughed. “In the soap-making department.”
“Whatever you need me to do, I’m good at it.”
She had to smile at his infectious confidence, inexplicably attracted to it. “You’re probably pretty good at marketing. I need to come up with some catchy names for my fragrances. See that row of bottles?” She indicated the shelf stocked with tiny vials of essential oils she used in the soaps. Go smell them and tell me what they make you think of.”
“Okay. Do you have a certain theme you’re looking for?”
“Something that would capture the essence of this island, I think. Something that has a local flair, so it would be tropical and beachy and sunwashed.”
“Sunwashed?” He gave a soft laugh as he unscrewed one vial and sniffed. “Whoa. Too strong for sunwashing.”
“Well, I dilute them, and be careful, some of them are super potent. It’s best to put a tiny dab on a cotton ball and sniff that.”
After a second, she heard him inhale deeply. “Oh, that’s nice. Smells like a really sultry woman. Someone who likes to...”
She cringed, not knowing what to expect.
“Milk goats.” He was close to her again, so close she startled, almost dropping the spatula. Without warning, he lifted her hair, exposing her neck. She’d changed into jeans and a tank top, covered with an apron and was currently up to her elbows in rubber gloves and lye... but he made her feel naked.
“What are you doing?”
“Testing the fragrance. I need to smell it on you.”
Soft cotton tickled her skin, followed by a warm breath. “Mmm. Almond?”
“Yes.” The scent was strong and distinctive, but her whole body was reacting to touch, not smell. Tingling, tightening, bracing for a man.
“It gave you goose bumps,” he observed, kissing a few and making the chills worse.
“Now there’s a fragrance name. Goose bumps.”
He chuckled into another light kiss, disguised as a sniff.
“That won’t sell.” He kissed her skin again. “You know what gave me goose bumps?”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear, but waited while he stroked her shoulder.
“The first time I saw you at the resort.” He rubbed a slow, small circle. “Running away from me with your hair flying and your cute little bare feet in the sand.”
She stood stone still, not caring that the soap might gel if she didn’t stir fast enough. She had to hear the rest.
“When you turned around, with the sun setting like back lighting on you, it gave me chills.” He kissed the spot he’d been rubbing, pressing his lips to her skin until it burned. “So let’s call this one…Casa Blanca Sunset.”
She couldn’t help sucking in a surprised breath. “That’s so pretty!”
“Exactly what I thought when I saw you.”
Laughing, she tilted her face toward him. “You really are good. Gifted, in fact.”
He let their foreheads touch. “One down. How many do I need to name again?”
“As many as you can, but I’d like four.” If she could take it.
Another kiss, and he was gone, opening more bottles and sniffing. She busied herself by pouring out some of the mixture and finding her emulsifier to make the froth that would give the soap its creamy texture.
“This is nice.” He inhaled loudly. “What’s a mimosa flower?”
“It’s why the island you’re on is called Mimosa Key. They’re incredibly bright pink, fuzzy flowers that bloom everywhere in the spring.”