Her skin was honey-toned with a tan. Her neck was long and graceful, her face classically beautiful, with big, golden eyes, dark lashes and a wide, sexy smile.

“Wow,” she whispered. “That’s spectacular.”

“It sure is,” he agreed, gaze fully on her, still desperate to lean down and kiss her mouth. Her auburn hair was slightly mussed. Wisps had worked their way free from the updo, along her neck and forehead. He had a sudden vision of her lying back on a white pillowcase, naked, thoroughly kissed, a sheen of sweat glistening on her brow.

He gave himself a shake.

“Oooh,” she sang, smiling. Then she glanced up at him. “You’re missing it.”

He wasn’t missing a thing. But he turned to look at the fireworks anyway. “Part of the election celebration?”

“It is,” she said. “I should be standing out there on the dock with a glass of champagne in my hand, toasting my-”

He waited, but she didn’t add anything to the end of the sentence. “You want to go drink some champagne?” he felt compelled to ask. The last thing he wanted to do was join the crowd down the beach.

“No. I was just wondering if anyone noticed I was missing.”

“Did you have a date at the party?” That could easily have been the end of her sentence. Toasting with her boyfriend? Was that what she’d meant to say?

He glanced reflexively at her left hand. No ring. At least she hadn’t been talking about toasting with her fiancé.

“No date,” she assured him.

He scanned his way from her knees to her breasts, along her neck, returning to her face. Bursts of light danced off her skin, reflecting in her gorgeous eyes. His voice went husky. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

She met his gaze for a long moment, while he tensed, waiting. Then she shook her head. “Not since Russell Livingston, senior year.”

“How old are you?”