“Sounds like a drink to me. Do you have anything that smells like an orange?”
“Extract. There should be some over there.” She touched the button of the electric emulsifier, the low hum drowning out other sounds and sending a slight vibration up her hand as she worked the liquid into a froth.
Suddenly, his hand was over hers, gripping the tool with her, his other hand under her nose with a cotton ball. “What’s that smell like?”
Tangy oranges and sweet flowers. Maybe... “Brunch on the Beach?”
“Yeah, but let’s go with something more poetic. Mimosa Mornings.”
“Oh.” She dropped her head back, letting it hit his solid shoulder. “You’re a genius.”
He dragged a finger over her lips, her chin, and her throat. “You inspire me.”
She kept her eyes closed, flicking off the emulsifier to revel in a different buzz, the slight touch of his fingertip on her breastbone.
“Let me put it right here and see how it smells.” Turning her to face him, he held her gaze for one second, then dipped his head, past her mouth, lower, lower to brush his mouth right along the top of her protective apron. His tongue flicked in her cleavage.
“Um, Becker. People aren’t going to eat my soap.”
He chuckled and slowly lifted his head. “When a woman smells this good, I want a taste.”
The aroma wafted up, as sweet and light as the kiss on her lips. He kept it chaste and quick, leaving her wanting more when he stepped away. “We’ve got morning and sunset covered. Let me see what I can cook up for nighttime.”
That she knew she couldn’t take. “That’s probably enough.”
He inched back. “Don’t you want four?”
“I want…” She let out a nervous laugh. “To stop giving you excuses to kiss me.”
His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Be right back.”
When he stepped away, she finished creaming the mixture and catching her breath, not daring to look over her shoulder at him. Maybe she should find a reason to go into the trailer, lock the door, and wait him out. Maybe she should—
“Night-Blooming Jasmine,” he said. “I like the sound of that.”
“It’s—”
“Seductive.”
She smiled and slipped off her latex gloves, stepping away from the soap mixture to get her molds. As she turned, he was right there, inches away.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered.
“I don’t need to.”
“Close and enjoy this.”
Enjoy what? Another trip down to her breasts? What did he have in mind now? “Elliott…”
He lifted a cotton ball to her nose, his expression disappointment. “I really like this one, but I want you to close your eyes so you can really appreciate this scent.”
She inhaled, a zing going to every pleasure center in her body. “Oh, what is that?”
“Chamomile and lavender.”
She took another whiff. “What do you call it?”
“I call it…” He hesitated a few beats, making her look at him.
“You have no idea, do you?”
“Barefoot at Twilight,” he finally said.
She let out a soft gasp at the perfect name, and he caught the inhale in a kiss, wrapping his arms around her to pull her into him. “You like it?”
Really, what wasn’t to like? “I think that Jocelyn will love these fragrances and this whole concept and then she will buy tons of my soap, ensuring that I have every reason to stay right here on my goat farm where I belong, which…” She inched back and winked at him. “Makes me wonder if you really know what you’re doing.”
He didn’t smile but looked at her for a long time. “Makes me wonder, too,” he said, his voice hoarse. Suddenly, he let her go. “So, we’ve got one more. We have morning, sunset, and twilight. What’s left?”
“Midnight.”
“I’m thinking something tropical, like that coconut—” He froze, eyes wide. “Did you hear someone scream?”
“Oh, that was Dominic.” She was so used to the bays and bleats, she barely heard her buck calling. “He’s...” She laughed. “He’s kind of frustrated and...you know. Worked up.”
“Must be something in the water around—”
The goat cry was louder now and followed by the metallic smack of his pen gate hitting the fence.
“I think he got out!” Frankie whipped around to run to the shelter door. Not good. This was not good.
Elliott was on her heels, and they both rushed outside at the same time, to find Dominic charging straight toward them, wailing in fury and excitement at his freedom.
“Holy shit, he’s mad,” Frankie said. “He could bust right into this pen.”
“He won’t.” Elliott tore to the gate and leaped over it again, going straight for the buck, who hesitated and stumbled in surprise. “Whoa, slow down there, big boy.”
He was a big boy, too. A Salerno goat the size of a small pony, with a shiny red and black coat and powerful twisted horns, Dominic was everything one expected from an Italian boy.
“Careful,” she called. “He has a temper. And he’s obstinate. And can be a little stupid when he’s this horny.”
Elliott grinned, slowly approaching the goat, holding out his hands. “Easy, boy. None of the girls in the goat pen are interested in hotheaded, stupid, stubborn guys.”
But behind her, Agnes and Lucretia bayed and danced, as though they could contradict that statement. They were always ready for a party, and that just made Dominic throw his head back and howl.
“Damn, he’s ready to rock and roll,” Elliott said, taking a step closer.
Just then, Dominic whipped around, his full focus on Elliott. He lowered his head and charged, head-butting Elliott right onto his ass.
Frankie slammed her hand over her mouth, not sure if she should laugh or go try to save him, but Elliott rolled and got up so fast she didn’t have a chance to do anything.
“I don’t think so, goat boy,” Elliott muttered, his muscles tense, his backside dusty. He took a few more slow steps, jumping to the side to miss another butt. “We’re done here, Dominic.”
“We have to get him back into his pen,” Frankie said. “I don’t know how to do that, either, because he’s never escaped since I’ve been here.”
“Let’s go, Dominic.” Elliott carefully approached him and got his hand on the goat’s neck. “Let’s go—”