“You going somewhere?” Tony asked, propping himself up on his elbow. He was all Michelangelo curves and tousled dark hair as he lounged on the work table, not a stitch on him. “I’m cold,” Dixie said, picking up her jeans. A few unlucky daisies hadn’t made it back into the water bucket. She pulled her T-shirt over her head and rounded up the strays except for one with a bent stem. She clipped off the long end and tucked the daisy behind Tony’s ear. “You upset, Dix?” “Insane, maybe. We just screwed on the work table like a pair of bunnies drunk on mint, with five dozen innocent daisies looking on.” And Dixie hadn’t felt this good since… forever. She sat on the table and lay back so her head rested on Tony’s flat stomach. His touch drifted over her features, his fingertips as cool and delicate as rose petals. “Do rabbits get drunk on mint?”
