Chapter 5 #3
He was arguing with himself—fighting attraction—when Poppy took the decision out of his hands by releasing the chain.
She wobbled, her hands landed on his shoulders, and he instinctively grabbed her hips to steady her, to keep her from tumbling off the narrow wooden seat.
Her hair fell down her face and brushed his cheek.
Then she touched her lips to his, trusting him to help her keep her balance on the swing.
His arm banded across her slim back; she really was a fairy in human form, and he held her tightly as he allowed her to explore his lips.
Then her sigh hit his lips, sweet and warm, and he took control of the kiss from her, his tongue sliding past her teeth to tangle with hers.
She tasted mysterious, of magic and moonbeams. He couldn’t get enough of her.
Deepening the kiss, he used his free hand to angle her head so that he could kiss her deeper, to swallow her sighs. This, God … this was better than anything he’d ever experienced, more amazing than he’d imagined. Kissing had always been a means to an end, enjoyable, but this kiss was…
It was everything. It was a hello, I’ve missed you, and a welcome back. A God, you look good grown up, and a who are you now? It was then and now, thirteen years of suppressed longing and 3 a.m. imagining.
He could’ve stood there for the rest of the day, forever, but Poppy pulled back and rested her forehead on his, the swing swaying under her feet.
He steadied her, which required both hands on her shapely bum—not a hardship at all.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she murmured, the words hitting his lips.
“Probably not,” he agreed. He pulled back, just a little, to look in her eyes. Not seeing any regret in hers, just naked want, he mentally shrugged and whipped her off the swing to hold her against his much bigger body. “But let’s do it anyway.”
Poppy’s eyes widened, and he caught her gasp of excitement, the flicker of anticipation in her eyes, the desire. Then she wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms around his neck, and swiped her mouth across his. “Yeah, kiss me again, Thom.”
It was an order he was happy to obey, and he held the back of her head to keep her mouth locked on his.
Her hair under his hand was silky and soft, and occasionally a whiff of her delicate shampoo, so fresh and so feminine, hit his nostrils.
Keeping his hand on her thigh, he stroked her head, then her cheek, her surprisingly long neck.
She was all woman; creamy skin, curves and dips, and all lovely.
Poppy kissed the corner of his mouth and moved her lips to his damn dimple. She dipped her tongue into the shallow indent, and he felt her lips curve. “I’ve always loved your dimple,” she murmured. She ran her thumb through his heavy stubble, then placed her cheek against his.
“If you rub your face on mine like that, you’ll end up with a rash,” he warned her, worried about her skin.
“I like it,” she replied, a little dreamily.
Feeling completely comfortable in his grip and certain that he would hold her, she leaned back a little and drew both thumbs over his eyebrows, then ran the tip of her finger down his nose, tapping the small bump on its bridge. “I remember when this happened,” she said.
“Bloody Hayes,” he muttered.
“Hey, you were trying to scare him by sneaking up on him, and he reacted by head-butting you,” she told him, laughing.
Thom pretended to drop her, and she squealed and dug her fingertips into his shoulders. “It was all Hayes’s fault,” she corrected.
He hauled her back up. “Better.” He patted her bum. “How is it that you don’t weigh much more than you did when you were a kid?”
“I weigh a great deal more,” Poppy told him. “You’re just more muscled than you were before.” She squeezed his bicep. “These are pretty impressive, Sheffield.”
He smiled, happy that she’d noticed. And he’d gained more muscle working on Solstice Deep than he ever had at the gym. The house was definitely a mean, demanding old lady who gave him a damn good workout every day.
And as much as he wanted to stand here holding this delicious bundle, they really did need to get home because Fel hated to be left alone and would soon be at the end of his patience. Shit would get real pretty soon.
He slowly lowered Poppy to her feet. He also needed to figure out how to go forward with her living in his house, and whether he was allowed to want her, and whether she wanted him. ‘We should get back,’ he said.
Poppy pushed both hands into her hair and shook it out. “Yeah, I guess.” She darted a look at him, then at her boots, words hovering on her lips.
He knew what she wanted to say, could see every word in her expressive eyes.
That, while the kiss had been great—great as in mind-blowingly sexy, hot, and freakin’ damn amazing—that’s all he could expect for now.
Possibly ever. Seeing her struggle for words, he thought he’d save her the time and energy.
“Don’t overthink it, Poppy. It was a kiss, nothing more. ”
It was such a lie. It was a kiss, sure, but also so much more. He wasn’t seeing her as a friend, as someone he used to know, but as a woman. Someone who was a mystery, a grown-up version of that fairy who’d followed him around, a curvy devil who was the definition of temptation.
Her eyes slammed into his, and he hated the confusion in all that blue. He could handle lust and need, but not confusion. Not when it coated a hefty layer of pain. He squeezed her shoulder.
“Consider it a moment’s madness,” he said. “Blame it on an overdose of memories.”
His voice stayed level, steady, giving nothing away—while everything inside him churned.
He couldn’t let her see how close he was to snapping.
How badly he wanted to pull her into his body, remove her clothing, and make her his.
Wanting her like that, wanting her more than he wanted to keep breathing, was dangerous. Indulgent. And entirely off-limits.
So he forced himself to stand there instead, calm on the surface, white-knuckling the need beneath it. Backing off was the smart, sensible thing to do.
She nodded, drew in a steadying breath, then shoved her hands deep into the front pockets of her jeans, deliberately keeping a safe distance between them. Right. She was in retreat mode—walls up, barriers reinforced, emotional spikes firmly in place.
He should follow her example. He knew the drill. He’d perfected it years ago.
But one truth refused to be ignored: she was one of the very few people, possibly the only one, who could make him want to lower his defenses. And that knowledge—quiet, persistent, and dangerous—settled heavily in his chest and refused to be dislodged.