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“Yes!” I blurt immediately. “I mean, sure. I think I’ve had my fill of society small talk.”
“What about snacks?” Dash asks, teasing.
“Well no, I’ll never get enough of them.”
He swipes a bottle of champagne and two glasses, and I grab a plate of desserts, then we head down the terrace steps and across the lawn. The weather is cloudy and humid, like there’s a storm on the horizon, but I’m just relieved to get away from the stifling company inside.
“This way,” Dash says, leading me down to the beach. I kick off my shoes, curling my toes into sand that’s still warm from the sun.
“Let me guess, you’ve bailed on your fair share of parties,” I tease, and Dash grins.
“Guilty as charged. And game nights… Dinner parties… The guest bathroom off the main hall has a window, you can shimmy to a convenient tree, for the really desperate jailbreaks.”
“Good thing we didn’t need it.” I laugh. “I’m not sure I’m shimmying anywhere in this dress.”
“I think you could conquer the world in that dress.”
Dash’s voice is low and throaty, and just about stops my heart in my chest. But when I look over, he’s striding ahead, so I pick my metaphorical panties off the floor and follow. But my pulse is racing now, and I’m wondering if we’re playing with fire with this little stroll.
I mean, come on with the romance here. Moonlight glinting off the ocean? The soothing sound of waves lapping the shore? The distant sound of music from the party?
How am I supposed to keep my resolve—and lipstick—intact under these conditions?
We reach a secluded spot near the boathouse, far enough from the party that the lights barely reach us. Before I can sit, Dash whips off his tuxedo jacket and lays it across the sand with a flourish.
“How chivalrous,” I say, taking a seat. He collapses beside me and loosens his tie, his face shadowed in the moonlight beside me.
I bite back a sigh of pure desire.
Method. It’s all just method acting.
Dash pours two glasses of champagne, and hands me one.
“I guess we should toast,” I say, trying to keep my mind out of the gutter. And his pants. “To a job well done.”
“Job?” Dash echoes.
“You know, convincing Zelda we’re the real deal.” I flush.
“Right.” He pauses. “That.”
I swallow hard, just dying to push his hair back out of his eyes. But I grip my champagne flute instead. “Cheers!”
I gulp it down, almost choking on the bubbles. Professional, I repeat, chanting in my mind. Job’s done. Game over.
“You know, now that the assignment is as good as done…” Dash begins, “We don’t necessarily have to stick to the rules. Not if we don’t want to.”
I pause. “What do you mean?” I ask, my heart suddenly beating faster in my chest.
He places his champagne flute in the sand, and slowly turns to me. “I mean… The rule about PDA.”
His eyes are dark in the moonlight. Dark, and intent on mine.
I catch my breath. “You don’t want to kiss in public?” I ask, lost.
Dash slowly shakes his head.
But just as my hopes are falling, he reaches out and caresses my cheek. “I don’t want to only kiss in public.”
