She stopped a couple feet short of him. The air carried the hint of her perfume, a scent he would always associate with her—earthy with a floral undertone, so bold yet feminine.
He wanted to tell her she looked amazing, but the words were lost, carried away by the flood of testosterone raging through his veins. Every thought in his head involved her, him and a Do Not Disturb sign on a door that would remain locked for the next three days.
She arched a brow. “Either I’m overdressed or I look like hell and you’re trying to find a nice way to say it.”
“I’ve been trying... That is, there aren’t words...” Liam cleared his throat. Twice. When he finally spoke, the words were gruff, one hand reaching for her. “Come here.”
She laughed then and stepped forward, allowing him to pull her into a warm embrace.
On the patio nearby, a quartet struck up soft dinner music. Liam spun Ella away from him and brought her back, turning her in slow circles, watching her carefully.
She looked up at him, then tilted her chin even farther and stared at the night sky. “What?”
“I’m trying to figure out what’s different about you tonight.”
“Nothing.”
“Not true. There’s an air about you, something less...intense, maybe? Different, definitely.”
“My give-a-damn broke.”
“Pardon?”
She laughed, softer this time.
He couldn’t help but think that, if he had to name the color of her eyes tonight, it would be Somber Green in Starlight.
When did I become such a bloody maudlin poet? Next thing, I’ll need a cigarette and bottle of cheap wine as I tap out bad rhymes on a run-down laptop.
“So what broke your give-a-damn? I didn’t even know that was a real thing,” he teased.
“Oh, it absolutely is. And you, Mr. Baggett, will be receiving a bill for breaking it. Shattering it, really.”
His brows shot up. “Me?”
“You.”
“How?”
“You invited me to dinner without work as a buffer.”
“I fail to follow your logic.”
She stopped following his lead, forcing him to cease the intimate dance he’d begun. Moving out of his arms, she took a few steps down the cultivated path, stopping where the sand began. Ella, one hand on a palm tree, balanced on one foot and then the other as she removed her shoes. Then she headed toward the beach.
“Ella, stop.”
A short glance back and she did as he bade.
It took him a second to catch up to her. Toeing his dress shoes off, he retrieved them in one hand and took hers with the other. “I had dinner set up on...” He paused, surprised to find he didn’t want to ruin the romance of the moment he’d spent the last hour creating. “Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to our table?” She started to put her shoes back on, but he stopped her. “You won’t need those.”
One of the event staff approached with a small basket extended. “For your shoes. They’ll be returned to your bungalow, Ms. Montgomery, Mr. Baggett.”
Curiosity made her tuck her chin in, but she handed her shoes over without comment.
Liam did the same and then reclaimed her hand. “This way.”
He led her down the beach and around a bend to a private cove. There, a teak daybed had been set up complete with a champagne bucket staked in the sand, bottle open and chilling. Flowers were scattered across the daybed, and a plate of hors d’oeuvres sat near the foot. A blanket lay artfully over a top corner. At least four dozen large pillar candles were scattered about, their flames whipping in the slight breeze. The flickering candlelight made the night feel more alive and yet more secluded, like they were miles from civilization. On a portable table, four silver domes—two large, two small—covered the meals the chef had prepared.