She shook her head, wondering if he thought she was backward.
“You must’ve wondered why I had newspapers all over the table,” he said with a laugh.
“Well, I just thought you were being creative.”
He barked out another laugh. “Or cheap! No, honey, this is a classic lowcountry meal. I caught these crabs off this here dock earlier today. It’s a delicacy and you’re going to love it. I’ll show you how it’s done. See, first you pick out a crab.”
He lifted one from the top and showed her a large crab with blue-tipped claws and a pale, creamy underside. “This here’s what we call a Jimmy. That means it’s a male. We can tell by the pointed markings on the underbelly. Kind of looks like—well, like the Washington Monument.”
Heather smirked. “The spitting image. What do you call females?”
“A Sook. They have a rounded apron on the belly. Hold on. . . .” He poked through the pile of crabs, then pulled one out. “Here, this is a Sook.” He flipped the crab over to reveal a rounded curve on the shell.
She looked at him, feeling very much the Sook to his Jimmy.
As the blaze in the sky faded, Bo taught Heather how to use the mallet to break the shells, how to dig with her fingers to find the sweetest, most succulent meat she’d ever tasted under the shoulders and in the claws. It was messy work and she was awkward at first, gingerly picking at the crabs, frequently glancing at Bo making sure she was doing it right. She worried she looked unladylike as she pounded the shells and ate the tender morsels with her hands. But Bo was ripping into the crabs with gusto and taking no notice. The Old Bay seasoning coated her fingers, flavoring every bite. It was pure heaven. It wasn’t long before she was laughing when her splintered shells flew into the air and lifting the meat to her mouth with her fingers like a true lowcountry girl.
They talked long after the crabs were finished and cleared from the table. Past the last dregs of the champagne, until the stars shone and the moon took her place in the velvety sky. They talked until there were no more words to say. Yet their eyes continued to communicate a shared knowledge of an appetite not yet sated. Their hands entwined on the table, his thumb gently stroking her palm. Her skin thrummed with anticipation.
Bo stood and offered her his hand.
“Are we leaving?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” he said as he reeled her up into his arms. “We’re dancing.”
“I don’t know how to dance,” she said, feeling a flush of anxiety sweep over her.
“Everyone can dance. Come on, I’ve seen you dance when you think no one’s looking.”
Heather felt heat rush to her face as she slapped his arm. “You spied on me?”
“Not exactly. I just watched you through the window while I worked. Girl, you’ve got moves.”
She blushed and turned her head toward the water, smiling, unable to step away because he held tight to her hand.
“Well, I’ve never slow-danced,” she said.
“Relax,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “There’s nothing to learn. Just hold on and follow me. Like this . . .”
He slipped one hand around her waist and took her hand with the other. He brought it close to his chest, then lowered his cheek to hers. “See? It’s easy. We sway in time to the music.”
At first Heather felt like a marionette, stiffly following Bo’s movements. Gradually she relaxed and caught the rhythm of the music. He’d selected slow songs by some of her favorite country singers—Blake Shelton, Brad Paisley, the Dixie Chicks. Their music filled the dark night. She was enveloped in love songs. The balmy breeze coming off the water ruffled her hair and lifted the skirt of her dress; Bo’s hand gently caressed her back, his humming in her ear. He pulled her closer and she felt her body mold to his. They fit together perfectly. Hip to hip, they swayed. Left, right. Left, right. Easy and slow.
His lips lowered to begin a scorching trail across her neck, to her ear, then her mouth, their breaths mingling, the sweet taste of bubbly champagne mixing with the spices. Bo moved his head to gaze into her eyes. Still dancing, he sang the lyrics of the Randy Travis song close to her ear:
I’m gonna love you forever and ever
Forever and ever, amen.
Heather clung to Bo even tighter and felt the heat between them, felt the wine floating in her brain, felt she was living in a dream.
A new tension was spiraling between them. I’m tipsy, she thought, but this time she didn’t fear it. There was nothing to fear. Not with him. She lifted her head off his shoulder and leaned back in his arms to look into his eyes. She reached up and gently traced a line from his temple over the sun-roughened planes of his face, gently trailing her nail along his bottom lip.
Bo’s eyes sparked. “Let’s go.”
THE BEACH HOUSE was dark when they entered.
“Where’s Cara?” Bo whispered. “Asleep?”
“She went next door for a sleepover.”
Behind her she heard a soft, low laugh. “That was thoughtful of her.”
Heather felt her cheeks flame with both titillation and shyness. She’d never brought a man back to her place before. She’d lived at home, and though she had a suite of rooms, she’d never felt that she was truly alone. More than that, it had never felt like the right thing to do with any of the men she’d dated before.
Yet it felt so right for Bo to be here with her. He was the one for her; she knew that with every fiber of her being. Heather had always trusted her intuition, and she knew that Bo was someone she would love for the rest of her life.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asked, her sense of heightened anticipation triggering her innate hostess manners.
Bo turned her to face him and slid his arms around her, kissed her softly on the lips, silencing her inner critic. Their kiss deepened and she leaned into him, feeling her inhibitions slide away and dissolve in the rising heat of passion.
Still in her dreamlike trance, she let her hand slide down his arm to take his hand. This time Heather led the way, across the hardwood floors to her bedroom. The four-poster bed loomed large, full of promise and import. She raised her fingers to his shirt and began unbuttoning the buttons, one after the other, while he stood quiet, watching, his breaths coming short. His skin felt warm beneath his shirt as she reached up to his shoulders and let her palms glide across the broad, muscled expanse of them, sliding his shirt off his body.