When those moments occurred, he knew how thin the ground he was walking on was.
Knew how shaky it was.
Like, each time, she was questioning her sanity in doing any of this. But she seemed to come around, and those moments were growing fewer and fewer because, God help him, they were merging well together. In fact, well was an understatement.
“Why do you insist on coming to these galas when you don’t like the politician the fundraising is for?” she asked quietly as they danced around a glittering ballroom.
Overhead, a glitter ball twinkled merrily, making her hair dance in its sexy high bun. Tendrils of hair curled about her throat, clinging here and there where the exertion and the heat of the night had it sticking to her skin.
Damn, he wanted to taste her there. Taste her where her scent was strongest, and she was sweetest.
Josh licked his lips at the thought, then realizing she’d asked him a question, murmured, “Just because I don’t like them, doesn’t mean I don’t like their politics.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Senator Beauregard is anti-abortion and anti-Planned Parenthood.”
“So are a lot of people.”
“Don’t you think women should have the right to choose? You don’t have to agree with either to think they deserve the right to do what they want with their own bodies.”
“I actually do agree with you, but Beauregard also has friends in high places in Sweden.”
“Sweden?” She gaped at him. “What does that have to do with Planned Parenthood?”
He laughed. “Nothing.” He tapped her on the nose. “Fear not, I paid for our seats but that’s it. He won’t receive any other donations from me.”
She scowled at him. “But what’s in Sweden?”
“A nice little company I’m interested in buying.”
“And he knows the owners?”
“Yep. He’s a widow. His wife was Swedish, and their son’s godfather is the owner.”
“What? He doesn’t want to sell to you?”
“He’s deciding.”
“And he’s taking too long about it?” she guessed, her tone wry. Then, she snuggled into his arms and grumbled, “You’re such a tyrant.”
He laughed. “You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not the best thing,” she retorted. “You should be nice and cuddly. Although, I do like your abs.”
His lips twitched. “I’m glad they please someone.”
“Oh, they certainly do. It’s a shame you’re not a cover model. If you were, the whole world could gaze in astonishment at the glory of your stomach.”
“Glory? Now you’re just making me bigheaded.”
“I think you’re entitled to be. About your abs. Not about schmoozing with the jerk who this gala is for.”
“You’re going to be my conscience, aren’t you?”
She batted her lashes up at him. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You’re not a Southern Belle,” he argued. “You can’t pull the mint julep act on me!”
Samantha chuckled. “For shame, you’re no gent at all, are you?”