“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.”
“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—”
Dominic whipped from side to side, butting hard again, but this time Elliott held his balance and managed to get his arms around the goat’s neck.
All the does were out of the shelter now, screaming and scuffing their hooves, the acrid smell of the buck as exciting as the fight. Frankie held two of them back, walking closer to the fence, mesmerized as Elliott tried to lead Dominic back to his pen.
Dominic bucked again, snapping with open teeth at Elliott’s arm.
“Shit, he bites!”
No kidding. Frankie nodded, half-laughing, half-holding back a moan. Dom bit, kicked, and head-butted when he was content, for crying out loud, and right now he was one pissed-off buck.
“Come on, boy, come on.” Elliott braved another bite, swearing furiously as he worked to keep his balance and move the buck away. “You gotta go back home.”
As if he understood, Dominic jerked out of Elliott’s grip again and started to run in the direction of the road.
“Sonofabitch!” Elliott took off after him, a few feet behind, both running full force with dirt and stones flying.
Elliott grabbed hold of him, practically wrestling the goat to a stop, getting yet another buck and bite in the process. But Elliott held on tight, his legs wide, his powerful arms finally, finally subduing the goat.
“We’re going home,” Elliott said through gritted teeth, clearly in control now. “Move it!”
Like a chastised puppy, Dominic gave up the fight and plodded back around the trailer to his pen, each step more humble than the one before. Elliott, on the other hand, looked downright victorious.
And sexy as sin.
Frankie didn’t even hesitate, leaving the does in their pen and rushing to join Elliott at Dominic’s enclosure. Battling for breath, his face red, two bites swelling on his arms, Elliott led Dominic into his pen, standing over him just to let the poor buck know exactly who was in charge. Frankie stayed on the outside to right the latch, watching with a pounding heart and soaring affection.
Finally, Elliott patted the buck and led him to the water bowl. “That’s enough of that shit, Dom.” Wiping his face with a dirty arm, he ambled out of the pen and double-checked the lock.
“Elliott.” Frankie was almost as breathless as he was. “That was—”
She threw her arms around him and kissed him so hard she knocked him right back on his ass.
* * *
High on the fight, humming with a surge of adrenaline, and inhaling a heady mix of pretty perfumes and disgusting goat, Elliott took Frankie’s kiss and gave it right back to her. He rolled her over on the grass, getting right on top of her to savor his win and this woman. She clutched his head, then his shoulders, almost as if she wanted to stop what she’d started, then wrapped her arms around his whole body and gave in.
Pressing her into the grass, he kissed her mouth, their tongues instantly tangling, their bodies rocking against each other like they’d been waiting all day to do that.
He had, that was certain, and it sure felt like she had, too.
Elliott gave in to the urge to explore whatever inch of her body his hand could find. Face, neck, shoulders, then he slide lower to her breast, making her hiss in a breath when he brushed over her nipple.
“Looks like more than one gate broke around here, Frankie,” he teased between kisses.
“I just wanted to...thank you.” She was fighting for control, he could tell. And every time he touched or kissed her, she lost a little more of the fight.
They rolled again, and this time he pulled her on top, loving the pressure of her body on his, already responding with blood rushing to harden him. Her eyes widened as she felt that between her legs.
“You know,” he whispered with a sly smile. “We can’t let poor Dominic see this. He’ll go nuts.” Laughing, he pushed her up and brought them both to a stand, kissing her again and walking her away from the pens, around the trailer, to the shade of a massive oak tree.
Still joined at the mouth and hip and hands, he leaned her against the tree trunk and pushed his entire body against hers as they kissed. His fingers found the apron tie in the back, snapping the string so he could get one less layer of
material between his body and hers.
But it was stuck around her neck. “Take this off,” he ordered.
“Becker...”
“Not everything, just the apron. I have a no-apron make-out policy.”
She put both hands on his shoulders and inched him back. “You have two buck bites on your arms, your face is bleeding, and my guess is this”—she gave a gentle squeeze to his ribs, making him grunt in pain—“hurts like a mother.”
Still cringing, he nodded. “But, so does”—he rocked his lower half into her, biting his lip to hold back a groan of pain and pleasure—“this.”
She searched his face, desire crashing with common sense in her golden-brown eyes. “I should take care of your other injuries...first.”
“First.” His smile tipped up. “That’s encouraging.”
“Becker, come on. I barely know you.”
He slid his hand up her arm, lingering over her shoulder, tempted to take it south and torture her by touching her breasts again, but he dragged his palm in the opposite direction to cup her jaw. “What better way to get to know me?”
“Oh, I can think of several. Talking. Exchanging information. Watching you to see what kind of man you are.”
“I’m a buck-saving, goat-toe-clipping, soap-naming, hay-baling assistant goatherd.”
She laughed. “Well, when you put it that way, what more could I want?”
“Exactly.” He smothered her neck with kisses again, licking her lightly until he got to her mouth, where he gave it full force. She stiffened and melted and moaned, meeting each sweet press of his lips with one of her own.
“Becker...” She gave his bruised ribs another squeeze. Hard.
“Yeow!”
“Let’s get you cleaned up and in a shower.” She reached up and kissed his cheek, stinging the spot where he knew a goose egg was growing under his eye. “A cold one.”
She should have said freezing, because fifteen minutes later, he was stuffed into a Hobbit-sized shower under biting cold spray. But after having Frankie’s tender hands all over him with antiseptics and wet cloths, he needed a cold dousing.
Facing the stream of water, he closed his eyes and ignored the sting on his cheek where he’d come in direct contact with a goat horn.
Seduction on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #2) Page 8