“What will you do then?”
She breathed out a dry laugh. “Catch up on all the work I haven’t done since I’ve been on trial.”
He gave her a skeptical look. When she nodded in confirmation of what she’d just said, he asked, “Won’t you take a few days off?”
“I don’t have the time.”
“Make the time.” He paused. “DeBarr isn’t that much of a slavedriver, is he?”
“No. It’s me. I like to be up on things.”
“You’ll crack at the rate you’re pushing yourself.”
She shook her head. “It hasn’t been so bad this time. You’ve helped.”
He couldn’t have asked for a better answer. Still, it wasn’t enough. “Let me help more. I’ll plan something for next weekend. You’ll at least take the weekend off, won’t you?”
“Mmm, but I may not be free. I mentioned to Susan that we should get Megan away. My family has a place on Marco Island. The three of us used to go there for vacations right up through the time we graduated from college. Susan and I thought that if we could get Megan there, it would be a good escape for her. She needs something. If my trial ends next week, we may do it next weekend.”
Jared felt disappointed in an old, familiar way, and on the tails of disappointment came annoyance. Then he stopped, thought about Savannah, thought about the situation. And he realized that he wasn’t being thrown over for a bunch of shallow politicians but for something deeper and more personal, and in that sense, important. He agreed with Savannah that if the trip helped Megan, it would be worth the time.
With the flick of his fingers, he freed her hair from its pony tail and wove a hand through the long tresses. “So when will I have you for the weekend?” he asked.
She felt a flow of warmth inside. “The one after that?”
“I’ll be putting the boat in the water then.”
“Can I help?”
He gave a slow nod.
“Tell me about it—the boat. How many sails does it have?”
“Three. And an engine. And a modern galley. And a big bed.”
“How big?”
“Big enough.”
They were grinning at one another. Savannah wasn’t aware that the Trio’s song had given way to a different sound until Jared cocked his head. She listened. The song was “Slow Dancing.”
“Want to?” he asked softly.
With a nod, she set down her coffee cup and slid from his lap, then went easily into his arms as he stood. She had never thought of dancing with Jared, but it was like nothing she had ever experienced. He held one of her hands down by his thigh and slanted his other arm across her back to mold her close. The beat of the music was a quiet pulse. He went with it, but slowly, slowly and with just enough movement to heighten the flex of his body against hers.
Savannah felt surrounded—by his arms, his legs, his heat. His scent was male, warm and heady. Moving her face against his neck, she felt the pulse of his life’s blood. It was in sync with the slow, steady sway of his body, which was in sync with the beat of the music—all of which was in sync with her needs and wants. Her world, at that moment, was in perfect harmony.
Feeling utterly content, she tiptoed up and slid her arm more tightly around his neck. It was a beautiful moment, one she wished she could freeze and call back at will. She felt no loneliness, no fear, simply love.
Bidden by an unconscious directive, she dropped her head back and looked up at him. His eyes met hers, the one with a slight cast, both with smoky gray flecks. Lowering his head, he kissed her once, twice, three times.
Their bodies barely moved by the time the third kiss was done, and neither of them noticed when “Slow Dancing” segued to “Sure Feels Good.” That was taken for granted.
Teasing her open mouth with the tip of his tongue, Jared worked the buttons of her shirt open one by one.
Savannah held tightly to his shoulders and whispered, “You’re working.”
“I know. It’s okay. We won’t do anything.”
