Chapter 17 – Ivan
Mancini: Thompson won big. I guess you’re not as good at poker as you claim.
Me: Or maybe I’m better.
Mancini: Next time, I’m coming. If only to mop the floor with your filthy hair.
Me: In my house? Good luck.
Around three in the morning, Poppy fell asleep. During a pause in the match, while the others were eating small bites and finger foods, I rose to drape my jacket over her. She was still wearing it now, swallowed in the crisp black threads, as the rosy dawn bloomed to the east.
“You read over half the book,” I marveled, breaking the comfortable silence of the car as we wove along the expressway.
Poppy stirred, turning to watch my profile. “What, like it’s hard?”
To read? Yes.
I tightened my grip on the wheel but otherwise kept the torment off my face. “Was it good?”
“So good.” She yawned. “I wish I could do a review. I’m probably behind on the excitement, though.”
A frown formed between my eyes at the resignation in her voice. It was almost as if the book pained her. I thought she would enjoy it more than watching us gamble.
“It’s definitely going to have the community buzzing,” Poppy sighed. I risked a glance and saw a smile playing on her lips. “It’s the author’s best work yet.”
“What community?” I asked, guiding the car onto the highway. The toll device snapped my car, adding to my tab.
“Hmm?” Poppy leaned deeper into the seat. “Oh, right. So, um, readers spend a lot of time online, sharing in the excitement of books.”
I slowed for a red light. This revelation confounded me. Not only did people read, but they talked about what they read?
Strange.
After a moment of contemplation, it made sense.
Other industries congregated online to discuss their passions.
Why was it surprising that readers did too?
I shifted in my seat, muscles flexing after sitting too long.
I knew the reason. It embarrassed me. There was no way I was admitting to this woman my shortcoming.
“You do this? Partake in the reading scene?” I asked just to take her mind off it if she noticed my discomfort.
She hadn’t. Her body seemed to light up. She sat straighter in her seat, drowsiness all but gone.
“I do—I mean, I used to,” she said animatedly. “I would read several books a week, sharing them on my socials. Authors sent me their books, which was pretty cool.”
“There are that many books?” I was confounded. And perilously close to sounding ignorant.
Fuck me, I shouldn’t have sent one of my guys to the bookstore. I should have gone myself. I wanted to understand what she was talking about.
“Oh, yeah! Hundreds and hundreds of books published every day,” Poppy beamed. “I probably have a pile of them waiting back in Carrington.”
A muscle jumped in my jaw at the mention of her old home. She would not be going back there.
But if her things were there….
They can be brought here.
Poppy was staying. That was the end of it. But it didn’t mean she had to give up her old life, especially such an innocent part of it.
More facets to my plans formed in my head as we pulled into the alley and then the driveway.
Consumed by the need to understand, to make things better, I held open first her door and then the back door. Poppy stepped inside—
Then stumbled.
“What the hell!” she gasped. Her gaze jumped about, eyes blinking as she tried to make sense of what she saw.
“Right. That.” I moved in behind her, a smile stretching across my face. “Surprise.”
There wasn’t a strong chemical scent, which was odd. Paint used to smell for days. Maybe that’d changed or maybe they ventilated the house well enough in the hours that passed.
“What did you do?” Poppy murmured.
I chuckled silently. I liked that she jumped to the correct assumption that this was all me. Granted, I hadn’t done the physical labor.
“I think the Samodivas were busy last night,” I teased.
“Samo-whats?” Poppy brushed her fingers over the wall as if were an illusion.
I dug into my childhood, remembering the things my grandmother told me. “Magical helpers.”
“Oh.”
Poppy was adorable like this. I wanted her.
Wanted her badly.
The torture of watching her all night, of watching and not touching, was at its limit.
And because I couldn’t help myself, I reached out and ran my knuckles along her upper arm.
Poppy’s responding shiver was delicious.
I couldn’t see her face from this angle, so I moved to gaze down.
Her unguarded astonishment was a thing of beauty.
She stared at the house, blinking rapidly as if it would vanish.
More than anything, I wanted to kiss her.
“You did this? For us?” Poppy’s gaze swiveled to meet mine. Emotions glistened in the corners of her eyes.
Fuck it. I reached for her, pulling her into my arms. It felt…right.
“Don’t be shocked,” I deflected.
“I am!” Poppy tentatively placed her palms on my sides. The effect was instantaneous. Heart pulsed through me, and I had to forcefully hold myself back. “You spent all night changing this place. Cleaning it up, because I—Oh, no!”
I frowned. “What?”
“It’s because I criticized your house, isn’t it.” Worry darted across her face.
I tightened my grip around her. “A little paint and new floors are an easy price to pay for your comfort.”
She nodded, but I could see I hadn’t convinced her.
Leaning down, I decided to take her mind off it. My lips hovered over hers for a brief second. She didn’t take the option to pull away. Rising on the tips of her toes, she met my mouth with a kiss.
The contact stole my breath.
It started gentle, a tentative brush of lips.
Her mouth was soft and warm against mine.
I gave her time to explore, to get used to the idea.
There was a question we both asked, and at the same time, our bodies answered.
Poppy’s response was nothing short of primal.
In a flash, she deepened the kiss. Her palm cupped my face.
It was firm and determined, closing on the stubble that lined my jaw.
Our mouths moved, and the hesitation melted away.
On my stomach, her fingers curled into the material of the shirt.
A sharp sound, part whimper, part plea, escaped her. I lost control in the echo of that noise. I backed her against the wall. My body bent to pin her in place as the kiss turned hungry. I slid my tongue against her lips, pressing and demanding entrance. She gave it.
Hers flicked to meet mine, and I tasted her sweetness.
My little mountain flower.
There was no remorse for plucking her and taking her to my dark corner of the world.
She was hardy and strong. She could survive in this place.
But it was up to me to make it less terrible.
More like her dreams. Which was exactly the reason I had my men do a quick home-reno project.
If she noticed the new flooring that spread through the house, she hadn’t said.
There were other projects we could—and would—do in time.
But paint and flooring were a solid start.
Fire exploded through my veins. I pulled her body up against mine.
My arm wrapped around her waist and I lifted her, using the wall to brace her, although the size difference between us made it easy.
I dreamed of this moment. While I devoured her with the kiss, plundering and demanding more, I skated my other hand over her body.
The explorative touch confirmed she was every bit as delicious as I imagined.
This whole time, my cock strained hard against my slacks, demanding attention.
Right as I was debating taking this further, footsteps clattered outside, and then the door creaked open. Poppy gasped and pulled away.
The loss of her mouth was a vivid pain. I lowered her wriggling frame to the ground. Rayko arched a questioning brow, but we’d untangled quickly enough that the round, dark eyes of his sidekick didn’t catch us.
“Brady!” Poppy stifled a shout. “What are you…? Where have you been?”
“Mr. Ray took me to his house for a movie.” The boy yawned. “We fell asleep on the couch, but here, Mama! Doughnuts from the drive-through.”
Gone was the passionate beauty, who’d been captive in my arms. In her place was the fiery mother. Poppy shared that same ferocity of any mammal when her young was in the picture. Her anger turned on me, controlled only by the refusal to have an outburst in front of the child.
“You let him leave?” she hissed.
Rayko sauntered past us, muttering in our native tongue about my ass being busted. He set Brady down on the couch in the living room and the rustle of the white bag said breakfast was underway.
“He was perfectly safe,” I countered.
“I left him here. Asleep!” Poppy shoved a hand through her hair. The suit jacket sloped off her shoulder. She tugged it back in place before letting out a growl and wrenching the buttons loose to rip it free.
“We had to move him so the men could work,” I argued. “It was an all- night project to clean this place up.” To bring it to your standards!
Glad I bit my tongue, I breathed heavy. I didn’t want this to poison what I’d done here, turning angry words on her.
“Ivan, when it comes to that boy, I need to know where he is at all times. I need to know he’s safe,” she insisted.
A bubble of anger popped inside me. “My son will always be safe.”
Poppy pressed her lips tight. Her head shook once. Then again. “Unbelievable.”
She stalked away, and I didn’t think the discovery of new furniture was enough to blanket the wrath simmering inside her. When it came to the child, she was inflexible.
I was right.
Poppy was furious.
Yanking the blackout curtains in my bedroom, I plunged the space into darkness. But I couldn’t just lie down and sleep. My mind was restless.
Going to the dresser where I’d hidden her phone, I plugged it into the charger and opened it.
I already did a cursory search the first night I brought her here.
But today, I wanted to better understand the woman playing catch outside with my son.
Her short nap at Nosh seemed enough to bolster her against the ball of energy that was the boy.
Flopping onto my side, I tucked the pillow under my head. I’d thought about joining them, but clearly the she-wolf needed space.
So I invaded her previous life.
There were several apps on her phone. Each held more of a mystery than the others.
A part of Poppy’s life was captured in pretty, stylized photos.
While the majority were books, she also shared day-to-day activities.
A calf being bottle fed. Fresh bread cooling in the sunlight.
A slow video of the leaves falling in her front yard.
Last summer, she made jams and preserves.
The captions were elusive, but the images contained enough of the story for me to piece it together.
The boy was there too. But Poppy always took photos from behind, or if his face was in view, she covered it with a funny, cartoon yellow face that corresponded to his reaction.
Always protecting.
I sighed and shut the thing off.
Her position was understandable. She thought the boy had been one place, and he’d been moved without her knowledge. But it was frustrating that I could see her side of things while she stubbornly refused to see it from my point. I would never put my son in harm’s way.
And I knew in my heart, no amount of books, changing the house, or other homey things would make her like this place if she didn’t believe me.