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“I’m assuming those are from French Kiss’s latest collection?” When she turned he was looking at the panties she held in her hand with a hot-eyed intensity that made her feel all flushed and needy. Since flushed and needy wouldn’t get her what she wanted, she set the panties back on the railing.
“Actually they’re last year’s. Since Michael’s stroke we haven’t produced a new collection.”
He picked up her glass of sweet tea and took a long drink from the same spot her lips had been only moments before. When he was finished, he set it back on the railing. “That doesn’t seem very smart.”
It wasn’t, and she hated his pointing it out. Her eyes zeroed in on the droplet of sweet tea that clung to his beard just below his full bottom lip. “So are you going to sign the contract or not?”
He studied her with his intense eyes, allowing the seconds to tick by while sweat beaded at her temples. Finally, he got up from the chair and answered. “Only an idiot wouldn’t.”
Olivia’s shoulders relaxed. “You won’t be sorry. It’s a good deal for everyone involved.” Without thought she reached out and brushed the droplet of tea from his beard, her finger grazing his lip.
As quick as a snake’s strike, he grabbed her wrist, his fingers curling around her thumping pulse. His gaze locked with hers, and all the oxygen seemed to evaporate from the humid air as he tugged her closer. So close she could feel the heat of his words against her lips when he spoke.
“Don’t screw with me, Olivia.” He released her and walked into the house.
As the screen door slammed behind him, one thought paraded through Olivia’s mind.
His beard had been soft.
As soft as Deacon was hard.
