A woman could do a lot of crazy things for a pair of fine-looking dimples.

Do I look stupid to you? That thing is just plain crazy.”
“And when was the last time you did something crazy?”
Joss cocked an eyebrow. Was he kidding? “You have to ask?”
A slow lazy grin warmed his face. “That wasn’t crazy. That was hot.”
She rolled her eyes. He would say that, wouldn’t he? “My skirt.”
“Is long.” He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Too long to flash anything when you fall off.”
“When huh?”
He nodded. “When.”
“I’m more worried it might end up above my head.”
He laughed but stopped abruptly when she glared at him. “I promise I won’t look when you get tossed.”
Joss glanced around her at the full restaurant. “And what about the other hundred people in here?”
“Oh come on.” He affected an air of fake severity. “Good decent southern folk would surely avert their eyes from a lady in a state of undress.”
She snorted. Half the men in here would trample over their wives for a glimpse of panties.

Sex makes people dumb.”
Joss laughed. Never had truer words been spoken. “That’s deep there, cowboy.”
“Hey.” He grinned. “I have layers, you know.”
Oh yeah, he was a regular onion.

If anyone had told Joss last week that she’d be dry humping a twenty-seven-year-old she’d met only five days prior in the bathroom of the loft above her garage, she’d have committed them for psychiatric evaluation. But here she was and she could not get enough.
Her body throbbed with need. Maybe she needed committing?

Thankfully he was wearing a towel—even if it was positioned sinfully low on his hips.
But that still left an awful lot to look at. An awful lot. Like the scattered droplets of water on his shoulders and chest and abs. And his nipples. Flat and brown and so evenly spaced she wanted to get out a ruler and measure them.
Or possibly use her tongue.

You were dead, you were sleeping the big sleep, you were not bothered by things like that, oil and water were the same as wind and air to you. You just slept the big sleep, not caring about the nastiness of how you died or where you fell. Me, I was part of the nastiness now. Far more a part of it than Rusty Regan was.