Shock and desire rocket through my body. “Then why do you want to leave?”
Her lower lip quivers before she sinks her top teeth into it, stilling the motion. “You said it was a mistake.” Her voice trails off to a whisper.
“That’s not?—”
She holds up her hand. “I’ve always thought things are going one way and they go another. You’re a rock star and I’m . . . well, I’m just Poppy. No one special. I didn’t really think that you might…” She trails off, before squaring her shoulders. “Look, I’m sure this happens to you all the time, and it’s okay. You’re gorgeous.
“Poppy,” I say.
She ignores me. “And it was an amazing kiss, but you don’t need to apologize or pity me. I kissed Gibson Hart.” She blinks. “Not that I’ll tell anyone. I don’t have a podcast or anything.”
“Poppy, stop.”I grind out and she blinks, her eyes widening as I stalk to the side of the couch and go down on my knees. “You wanted me to kiss you?”
Her head bobs slowly. “Well, yes. But because you wanted to, not a pity kiss.”
“It wasn’t a pity kiss.”
“Then why did you say it was a mistake?”
I slide my hands on either side of her hips. “Because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to thank me or something, for rescuing you. You staying here really doesn’t have any strings attached. I just want you to feel safe.”
Her blue eyes search mine. “I do feel safe with you. Which is crazy because we just met.” A pretty blush tints her cheeks. “I’m sure you hear this all the time, but I’ve never felt this way before, this instant attraction.”
“Poppy, I want you to forget about what you think you know about me. That life gave me lots of things, but peace of mindand knowing when someone is being honest with you weren’t included.”
“But you could have anyone you want.”
“Not really. Not in the ways that really count. The women who wanted me really only wanted to say they’d been with a rock star or wanted me for what I could do for them. That’s different from wanting just me.” I lean in, cupping her jaw. Her pupils dilate and her breath catches as I slide my fingers into her hair. “Tell me whatyouwant, Poppy,” I say.
“I want you to kiss me.”
I feather my lips along her delicate collarbone, loving the way she tilts her neck to give me better access. “Not because you think you have to?” I ask, licking the tender indent at her shoulder.
“No,” she murmurs, “because you make me feel beautiful.” She pulls back slightly. “Wait, Gibb.”
I immediately stop, backing up slightly so I can see her face. “What?”
“Why do you want to kiss me?”
“Because I haven’t been able to think of anything else from the minute I held you in my arms.” My admission hangs in the small space charged with a current of desire vibrating between us.
Her eyes go hazy, the dark fringe of lashes sweeping down and her lips part. I can’t wait a second longer to connect my mouth to hers. It’s even better than the first kiss and I press forward, angling her head to give me better access, and this time it’s me who moans when her tongue glides against mine.
Sensation overwhelms me. The scent of her, warm and soapy, and the silk of her hair as I grip her head, holding her in place so I can devour her. The way she arches against me makes me wish I’d somehow managed this where I’m not grinding my hips against the couch. The kiss goes on as we learn each other,hot and hungry until I release her lips, panting, and rest my forehead against hers.
Her small hands curl into my shirt, like she’s loathe to let me go and if I had to stay here on my knees for hours to prove to her I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, I would do so gladly.
8
Poppy
After two more days, my ankle and I have reached an understanding.
The understanding is this: it will allow me to hobble around Gibb's cabin with the crutches without making embarrassing noises, and in exchange I will stop pretending it is fine when it isn't and allow myself to be carried down stairs by a man who apparently considers it a personal insult when I suggest he can't manage the weight.
I think this is a fair deal. Especially as it includes kissing Gibb, which I do often. I’m about to climb out of my skin because I want to do more than kissing. I feel like Pavlov’s dog, quivering when he whispers all the dirty, dirty things he wants to do to me in my ear.
But for now, he’s only talking about it and not doing it. He’s worried about my ankle, muttering about a possible hairline fracture. So instead of manhandling me the way my body is screaming for, he’s gentle and hesitant, tending to mewith ice, heat and elevation. I get ibuprofen every four to six hours because the swelling and purple ring around my ankle is bothering Gibb. So much so that he curses when he unwraps the bandage on the third morning.