CHAPTER 30
James was wearing a tool belt. His hair was tousled from the breeze and the curves of his biceps were visible under his sweatshirt as he stood at her door.
‘Is this a joke?’ asked Poppy, eyeing the belt. ‘The rest of the Village People couldn’t make it?’
‘There was an emergency at the YMCA.’
Poppy moved aside to let him in. ‘I randomly always had a thing for the policeman.’
James locked eyes with her and raised an eyebrow. ‘Noted.’
Poppy felt a familiar heat tingling up her spine. She wrenched her gaze away to break the current. ‘Follow me.’
She led the way down the hall into the laundry, where the shelf hung at a forty-five-degree angle—completely useless for shelving things, but entirely useful for assessing the laws of gravity. For lack of any other shelf, she had piled her laundry detergents into the space where the slope of the shelf met the wall, creating a V-shaped stack of washing liquids.
‘I see how this could be a problem for you,’ said James.
‘Suboptimal,’ Poppy agreed. ‘I call it my Cleaning Tower of Pisa.’
‘I would call it a clear lack of shelf-preservation,’ said James.
Poppy smiled. ‘I’ve been a bit shelf-destructive.’
His laugh was wonderful. The way his face broke into a broad grin, it was like dropping an Alka-Seltzer into water. Making him laugh made her fizz with pride. It was always better than she expected.
‘It needs some shelf-care,’ continued James, turning back to the wall.
Poppy smirked. ‘Are we going to do this all afternoon?’
James shrugged. ‘I have no shelf-control.’ They grinned at each other like fools, before he added, ‘Especially around you.’
Poppy felt her grin melt and she was suddenly hyper-aware that James wasn’t blinking. She quickly looked away.
‘Like I said, I’m getting the dryer installed on Monday so the shelf needs to be fixed before then. If you don’t think you can do it, I’m sure my dad and I can manage.’
‘Poppy, please don’t underestimate my prowess with a drill.’ James pulled a pencil from his belt, stuck it behind his ear, and Poppy watched as he pulled out a tape measure to calculate the height between the floor and the shelf. It was highly irrational, but she was feeling majorly turned on.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ Poppy said for the hundredth time. (They’d been texting about it all last night.)
‘I know,’ said James. ‘But I’ve been around enough kids to know that as soon as Maeve can try to use this as a ski jump, she will.’
‘Maeve can’t walk,’ she reminded him.
‘Ah, but can she ski?’
Poppy smiled. ‘Unlikely.’
‘I’m not willing to take that chance. Someone’s got to think of the children, Poppy.’
He put his hands on her shoulders, moving her back towards the wall so he could slide past, his hands gliding down her arms ever so slightly as he did. His touch was electrifying, like a swarm of fireflies fluttering over her skin.
‘I’ll get this out of your way,’ she offered, sliding back past him to pick up the laundry basket. She bent down to pick it up and felt his hands on her waist, playfully tugging her towards him.
‘You’re getting in my way, McKellar.’
Poppy straightened up, her back to his chest, his breath on her neck. She placed the basket on the top-loader and spun slowly. The humidity in the air seemed to build as her eyes met his. Her heart was suddenly whirring like an electric fan and her gaze travelled to where his jumper snagged at his waist. An inch of skin peeked out above his tool belt and she had an irresistible urge to slip her fingers under the waist of his jeans and pull him towards her.
All her synapses were suddenly firing, sending warmth to places in her body that hadn’t felt this kind of heat in years. It was as though they were tightrope-walking on a single golden thread. If James made the slightest move, she would disintegrate on the spot, like a firework dissolving into air.
James’s breathing was low and husky. How were they now so close? The room seemed even smaller than usual and she was acutely aware that her bedroom was less than ten metres away. It felt as though steam was floating off her body, condensation sliding down the windowpanes. The thought crossed her mind to move away, but another thought steamrolled in: No frickin way .
‘Will I wake Maeve with the drill?’ he asked quietly, his mouth perilously close to her skin.
Poppy heard herself whispering back, ‘It’s Thursday. She’s at my mum’s …’
The information settled between them, heavy with meaning, and Poppy felt the walls close in further, threatening to suffocate her.
‘Poppy,’ James said in a low voice. He moved his fingertips to her waist, light as mist, and she shivered with anticipation. His face tipped towards hers and she tilted upwards, their breath mingling as her eyelids fluttered closed.
Her brain wasn’t cut out to perform these calculations. The risks of moving an inch forward were high, she knew that, but she also knew that sometimes you needed to succumb to temptation in order to refocus. Like a cheat day. Maybe she just needed to get this out of her system.
She pressed closer to James and his lips brushed her neck. Her skin burned hot underneath them as his grip on her waist tightened. She wound her arms around him, threading her thumbs through his belt loops, and his lips increased the pressure on her throat, sending a flame down her spine. ‘Is this okay?’ he murmured.
Before she could stop it, a tiny moan escaped from her lips. She felt his mouth smile against her skin and it made her want him more.
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
‘Clever man,’ she whispered, kneading her fingernails into the fabric of his top.
Their stomachs met and a heavy longing gathered in Poppy’s belly and everywhere else her skin touched his. James tipped her face upwards, his nose grazing hers until the heat of his mouth touched her lips. She gasped. It was exactly as she remembered, but softer, like the slightest strike of a match before it lit a pool of gasoline. His lips parted hers with the gentlest touch and her hands slid under his jumper and t-shirt, running over the coolness of his skin, the firmness of his muscles. She angled her neck to drink all of him in, like his mouth alone could quench her thirst. She could feel him smiling as his lips moved against hers, stronger now, and she felt she would melt in a puddle.
‘James,’ she whispered, because she needed to say something, anything, to have some sense of agency when she was clearly losing all control.
In response, James skimmed his hands down to her butt and around her thighs, and Poppy felt herself being lifted, wrapping her legs around him as he pulled her up. With one hand he struck the laundry basket to the floor and placed her on the top-loader. ‘Sorry,’ he breathed between kisses.
‘Collateral damage,’ she muttered.
His hips were firm against her and she could feel how much he wanted her. Her fingers ran through his hair as his tongue slipped into her mouth. She pushed her chest against him, her nipples hardening.
The steel lid of the washing machine was cold under her thighs compared to the fire between them. She pushed herself into him, demanding more contact, and he pushed back, filling the space, kissing her deeper. The washing machine squeaked underneath her and their hands slid over each other, hungry to learn every curve. It was as though they were on a timer, desperate to touch everything, feel everything, before someone yanked them back to reality. Poppy gripped his jumper, tugging him closer. She wanted him flush against her, and he obliged, grabbing her butt roughly as his lips traced her jawline. His teeth grazed a jagged path down her neck, the resistance sending a rush of pleasure to her core. Every touch was like fire—hot and fierce. He knew when to push and when to release, and Poppy could hardly stand it. Their lips met again and Poppy laughed into his breath as his hands slid under her top and she arched her back to give him better access. This is not enough , she thought blindly. Whatever this was, it was amazing, but she needed more. She wanted all of him, faster and harder and deeper, and she wanted it now, she needed it now .
Poppy pulled her lips away. ‘Should we …?’ Suddenly, a memory of them in her kitchen flashed up: her asking the same question, him misunderstanding, her crumbling, months passing. That couldn’t happen again. ‘I don’t mean stop,’ she blurted.
‘Wasn’t planning to,’ growled James, moving his lips to the soft skin behind her ear as his fingers spread wide against her rib cage. He curved his hands under her butt and picked her up again, the tool belt wedged between them, and carried her down the hall.
‘On the left,’ she ordered.
Obediently, James pivoted and she felt her back against her bedroom door. He pushed it open, walked her to the bed and carefully placed her on the edge, pulling his mouth from hers to look her in the eyes. He kneeled on the floor in front of her. Gone was any trace of humour; his eyes were dark with focus. Poppy’s breath hitched.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she breathed, her eyes fixed on his, unafraid to ask for this. She tugged him towards her, pulling off his jumper. God, she was happy to see that chest. She wove her arms around him and pulled him on top of her. Her fingernails dug into his back and up towards his shoulder blades, the friction driving her wild.
His hands slid under her top, finding the curve of her breast, and she writhed in pleasure as his fingers seamlessly moved to unclip her bra. Her breasts fell free and she willed him to discover more of her. She wanted him to explore her body like a map, trace every part of her.
Her hands fumbled with his tool belt and she realised she was laughing. ‘This stupid belt.’
‘You’re right,’ muttered James. ‘Police costume would’ve been better.’
He pulled the buckle undone and it fell to the floor with a thud.
‘Next time,’ she breathed.
‘Don’t tease me,’ he moaned.
He reached both hands under her top and she raised her hands so he could peel it off, savouring every movement like he was unwrapping a present. Her skin sizzled under the heat of his gaze. She needed his skin against hers, now.
She began pulling at his underwear as he pulled against hers and they tangled themselves in desperation. ‘You do you, I’ll do me,’ commanded Poppy as she began pulling down her own undies.
‘No way,’ replied James. ‘I’m doing this.’
His eyes locked on hers and he slowly, purposefully slid her underwear down her legs, his warm hands sending electric sparks fizzing through her abdomen. Not breaking eye contact, he moved down to her chest and kissed her between the breasts, then quickly pulled off his own underwear and propped himself above her, his beautiful, naked body way too far away for her liking.
‘Hold on.’ He rolled across the bed to reach for his jeans pocket and pulled out his wallet. There was a crackle of foil, and he was back. She could barely stand the fact there was so much of his skin that she wasn’t touching.
She glared at him. ‘Don’t make me wait for this.’
James leaned down and kissed her collarbone then moved up to her mouth, his lips parting hers greedily as he positioned himself above her. ‘I’ve already waited for far too long,’ he breathed.
The dappled light through the windows brightened, her soft cotton sheets cradled her body and her skin pulsed with an energy unlike anything she’d ever known. This was her home, she was safe and she knew what she wanted.
He moved inside her, gently at first, then deeper, and she bit into his shoulder to stifle the animal sounds she wanted to make. Her nerve endings crackled, filling her body with a rapacious heat.
‘Poppy,’ James moaned. ‘I promise I don’t normally do this.’
‘You should,’ panted Poppy, her mind swimming as she pushed against him, exerting all her focus to extract every inch of pleasure from his body.
‘What am I saying? Of course I should,’ James agreed, driving his hips against hers as she melted into him, arching in pleasure. ‘I should do this, you should do this, we should do this.’ He grabbed her hand and threaded his fingers through hers as he stretched her arm above her head. ‘We should do this all the goddamn time.’