“Exceedingly.” He nuzzled her neck as he held her. “I missed you.”
Poppy’s hand fell against his damp chest. “Of that I have no doubt.”
They both stilled, and then as if by some agreement, they laughed. He shook with it as he kissed the tip of her nose. His gaze, when he caught hers, danced with a light she had missed so much. He grinned wide, boyish and free. “Now then, let us see how else we can utilize that talent of yours.”
Loose limbed with slumberous warmth, Poppy drifted on a cloud of contentment. Dawn was here, and the very idea of it threatened to pull her down into a sea of terror. An unfamiliar sensation that she struggled to avoid for the moment in favor of just being. If only for a little longer. Heavy male legs twined with hers. A strong arm held her close against a wall of muscle and hot skin. The warm cup of Win’s palm was against her breast. For years she had awoken in this manner, surrounded by Win. For months she had awoken alone. And though her body was quite used to the sensation of Win, her heart felt fragile as thin ice over deep water.
When he stirred, she turned to meet his gaze. Nearly nose to nose, they studied each other. He’d come to her again and again. Stopping only when they were both too weak to move. And she ached now, in places that had been too long ignored. Even so, the unwelcome morning light lay full upon them now, making her squint as she studied his deep set eyes.
Win’s wide mouth quirked. “Shall I speak first then?” His damaged voice was husky and uneven.
Poppy’s hand, resting on the small of his tight back, pressed against him. “If you insist.” Flutters ran through her belly but she did not lower her gaze.
The cool blue of his eyes turned warm. “I love you.”
Her breath caught, and he said it again, against her mouth. “I love you.” Moving in that assured, greedy way only a man intent on tupping could, he rolled on to her, making himself at home between her thighs. His lips ghosted over her neck and down to the pendant resting in the hollow of her throat. His teeth clinked on the gold as he took it in his mouth and gave it a light tug just as he used to do. Poppy smiled up at him, and he let it go. “I love you.” All of her.
The hot crown of his c*ck found her opening, and he shuddered. She was wet already.
A lazy grin slid over his lips as he eased into her. And in, and in. Until he was fully seated. “I love you, Poppy Lane.” His hand glided along her skin, over her arm, and their fingers threaded. He held her hand as he made love to her, in an undulating movement that never paused. She wanted it to last forever.
“Win…” She wrapped her legs around his hips, holding him there.
Win’s response fell short as someone pounded on the door. “Bloody—” He bit his bottom lip as if to keep from shouting, then turned his head. “Whoever it is, we are not receiving callers.”
Laughter burst from Poppy. “Good lord, Win.”
He gave her a repressive look. “Ought I have said we were shagging instead?”
“It might work better.”
The insistent knocking returned, followed shortly by Ian’s deep voice. “It’s rather important, Lane.”
“Buggering hell.” Win wrenched round, and his voice boomed as he responded. “If you do not leave this instant, I will tear your cods off.”
Poppy covered her face with hot hands as she pictured Ian Ranulf standing on the other side of the door. “Just go see what he wants,” she said through her fingers.
Inside her, Win’s c*ck twitched in protest. “Not likely.” He moved his hips, a delicious glide that had her attention.
“It’s about Talent,” said Ian through the door.
“Oh, God.” Poppy shoved at Win’s shoulders, rather like trying to budge a barge for the way he resisted. “Just go.” When he frowned down at her, she tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. “The moment is over, love. I can’t do this now. Not with him,” she jerked her head toward the door, “out there.”
Several raw and rather creative curses left Win’s mouth as he slipped free. Poppy felt the loss acutely, but had to smile at his ire. Win pointed a long finger at her. “It is not over. Stay there.”
Still cursing, he grabbed his trousers and shoved them on before stalking to the door.
Winston wrenched the door open and caught Ian mid-knock. “What is it?” Win wanted nothing more than to slam the door in Ranulf’s face and return to Poppy, but he had to ask. “Is Talent ill?”
“No.” Ian grimaced. “Not more than he was. Here is the thing—”
Win’s hand tightened on the door. “Tell me about it later.” He had only so much time before he had to face the day and figure out his bloody fate, and he was going to revel in it.
Ian’s brows snapped together. “Look here, Lane—”
“Not right now,” Win ground out through his teeth.
They glared at each other for a wild moment in which Win struggled to keep from shouting like a madman. Something in his expression must have registered with Ian, for the man’s scowl dissolved, and he finally took in the fact that Win was half dressed. “Ah, I see.”
“Just—give me an hour.” Win halted and winced. “Two.”
He could have sworn Ian’s cheeks colored. “I’ll go.”
“I say,” came a feminine voice from the direction of the hall. “Is Poppy in there?”
Win groaned and let his head thunk against the doorframe as Daisy came up behind Ian. He could only thank God that Ian spun around and caught Daisy by the arm. “Later,” he said to his wife.
“I only wanted to check if she was truly all right,” Daisy protested as he led her back down the corridor.
Ian leaned close and murmured something in her ear. Before Win could see her response, he closed the door on them both. If he got out of this mess with Jones, he was taking Poppy back to their home in short order. He missed their cozy house. With its utter privacy.
A sense of foreboding crept along the back of his neck as he walked back into the bedroom.
Poppy listened to the exchange in the hall and bit her lip to keep from laughing. Ordinarily, she’d have gone and shooed Ian away. But Win had it in hand, leaving her to do as she pleased. Content to do just that, Poppy flopped over on her stomach and hugged the bed. But a thud from below caught her attention. She bent over the side. A small, slim leather notebook lay upon the floor. Win’s notebook. He had many of them. The last one she’d seen had been battered and bloody, a ravaged survivor pulled from his pocket after the werewolf had attacked him. Poppy had found a way to get that notebook into Ian Ranulf’s hands so that he might have the facts needed to defeat those who’d hurt Win.
The leather was smooth against her palm as she reached down to pick up the notebook. It appeared to have fallen from the little side table by the bed. So then, not hidden away.
This was what she told herself as she opened it. She was outright prying, yes. She did not care. She’d long gone past the point of respectable behavior in regard to him at any rate.
His familiar slanted scrawl across the page made her throat tighten. She’d read his notes before. Win committed every fact to memory, but he liked to write them down as well for, as he’d say, sometimes seeing the story written down cast it in a different light. Those notes were often disjointed, little facts written here and there, interspersed with his musings. But this was different. These words were orderly, a narrative. Her frown grew as she began to read… From the moment he’d stepped off that train, his life changed completely. And it had been because of a woman… By the end of the first page, her heart thudded against her breast.
“I wanted you to find it.”
The notebook landed on the ground with a slap as she jumped.
Bathed in the morning light, Win stood just inside the room. Anger did not lurk in his gaze, but sorrow, deep and pained. “Just not at this moment.”
“You’re writing about when we first met.” Her cold fingers wound themselves into the sheets. “But it is different. I don’t remember events quite in that way.”
His lashes lowered, hiding his soul away from her. “It is what really happened. Before.”
Before bloody Isley.
“Why write it down, Win?” Bile crept up her throat.
“I wanted you to know.”
She went to him, close enough to smell the scent of their lovemaking against his hot skin. Close enough to see the muscle tick at his jaw.
“Why not simply tell me?” Pain and ugliness would come with his answer. Even so, she pressed on. “Why write it all down?”
His shoulders hunched, and in the silence, the sounds of the household drifted up from below.
“Win.”
An eternity passed before he lifted his gaze to hers. His voice was ice crunching beneath a boot. “Because I won’t be here. And I wanted you to have something to… to remember me by.”
She could not breathe, could not move past the numbness taking hold of her limbs. She tried to speak, shuddered, then tried again. “W-what do you mean?”
Still he did not move, as if he too were frozen. His eyes filled, highlighting their winter-blue color, before a single tear spilled over, bumping its way down his ravaged cheek. “Boadicea.”
Her breath left in a gust. “The bargain. He’s taking your soul regardless of whether we succeed or not.”
He didn’t need to say a thing. It was written on his skin, in his eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dimly she heard something crack, the shattering of the lamp glass. Ice cold swirled about her.
He moved then, gathering her in his arms and pressing her against his warmth. “Stop.” He held her tighter. But she could not stop the cold that invaded her soul, nor stop it from slipping out to freeze the room.
“Why, Win?”
His lips brushed her temple. “Saying it aloud would make it real.” Then his fingers were in her hair, his cheek pressed hard against hers. “I did not want it to be true.”