She allowed a grin then and adjusted the grip of her free hand that was trapped between them. “Oh, I don’t know.”
She felt the exact moment he realized she held his cods in her hand, for they tightened as he huffed out a choked breath. And then he began to swell, his long length thickening and rising against the heel of her hand. She swallowed hard. “I believe it is you caught in a snare, Mr. Lane.”
Challenge glimmered in his eyes, and he nudged against her palm, gently, teasing, patronizing. “Go on then. Here is my body. Guard it well, wife.”
Bastard. Her knees buckled with the urge to sink down and draw him out of his trousers. “I do not find you amusing.”
He leaned in a touch, his c*ck a hard press against her arm, his stones filling her hand. His lips canted with a little smile. Those expressive lips that she knew could be soft, or hard. So hard. She watched them move. “Not even a little?”
Slowly she lifted her eyes and then stroked, running a finger down the center of his tight sack. He grew tighter, a strangled sound gurgling in his throat as he pushed into her touch.
“Poppy.” A dark warning. An invitation. “You take my c*ck in hand, you had better be ready to toss it off.”
“Your rude behavior won’t scare me away.” But it made her inexplicably hot. Damn him.
His gaze grew shadowed. “Who said I wanted you scared?”
She tried to breathe, but he was too close, his c*ck throbbing now against her hand. “And how do you want me?”
His lips touched her temple, the merest caress before slipping away. “I want you safe. I want you gone from here.”
She glared back at him, and their mouths brushed. Desire and frustration made his eyes go dark. She sympathized, but wouldn’t let him go. “I am here to protect you, Win. Whether you like it or not.”
The wrong thing to say, apparently. His nostrils flared, and his gaze frosted over. “So then,” he murmured against her lips, “is this the full-service guarding that you usually provide?”
She wrenched him.
“Ah!” Win fell to the floor, cupping himself. “Christ!” He hissed again, then looked up at her through the wild strands of his hair as Poppy stepped around him. “Bad form, Poppy. Exceedingly.”
“Come now, I did not do it that hard.”
His even, white teeth snapped together with a click. “Had you balls, madam, I’d be happy to reciprocate. Then we’d see who was flippant.”
“Idle threats, Win.”
“Poppy Ann Lane,” he snarled. “You get back here.”
“You know,” she tossed over her shoulder, “at the moment, I’m sorely considering going by Poppy Ellis once more.”
“We are not finished with this.”
Her heels clipped against the floor as she strode farther away. “Oh, I believe we are.”
Chapter Seven
London, 1869—A Kiss
It had been one week since he’d last seen her. Propriety demanded that Winston wait that long to call on Poppy again. But he was beginning to think to hell with propriety. The way he thought of Poppy was far from proper. And waiting had nearly driven him mad. Her scent, from where she’d brushed up against him on the way back to her home, had faded from his coat, and he longed for it. He’d longed for everything about her—the sound of her voice, the quick flash of her eyes, and her touch.
But now she was with him again, walking at his side, her slim hand a light, yet profound weight upon his arm. They hadn’t spoken for some moments, Poppy nibbling on her bottom lip as they strolled along, and he wondering what had caused her sudden and obvious case of nervousness. Her cheek held a faint blush, and her eyes would not fully meet his.
Unable to stand the suspense any longer, he cleared his throat. “Have I done something to offend you?” He refused to entertain the notion that she did not want to be with him.
Her smooth gait bobbled, but she corrected it quickly. Her flush, however, spread. “No.” She made a small noise, and her fingers twitched on his arm. “I am… well, that is to say, I am simply glad to see you, Mr. Lane.”
It was his turn to falter. He stopped and turned to face her. Pink-cheeked and flustered, she met his eyes with effort, and a grin spread over his face, one that he felt with his whole being. “I am very glad to see you too, Miss Ellis.”
Watching him, she too began to grin, a slow, wide unfurling of a smile that had him leaning toward her. But then, with sudden and violent fury, the wind whipped about them and it started to rain, a spring downpour that had idle strollers scrambling to leave and the more prepared London folk pulling out their umbrellas.
“Come!” Grabbing her hand, he ran them along the path, toward the willow that they’d stopped under before.
Breathless and laughing, they huddled underneath its canopy, and Poppy smiled up at him. “I had no idea you could move so quickly, Mr. Lane.”
He laughed a bit, but tried to pull it in. “Ought I have taken better care of your sensibilities, Miss Ellis?”
Poppy shook her head, her eyes still alight. “I would be extremely disappointed should you coddle me, Mr. Lane.”
Beneath the willow, it remained relatively dry, but a drop broke through and landed on her high, curved cheek. It rolled down from the corner of her eye like a tear. He caught it with his thumb and rubbed it away from her smooth skin. Touching her sent a bolt of heat down his center, and he stepped closer, cupping her jaw, loving the way her breath audibly quickened.
Then he did what he’d been dying to do since he’d met her. His lips brushed hers, and his breath hitched. Soft. So utterly soft. Yet the contact made his lungs hurt. He pulled back just enough that their lips still touched when they breathed. “As I suspected. You are heaven.” And then he had to do it again, caress her parted lips. He hadn’t realized how a kiss could make him go utterly weak.
She stumbled into him, her hands clutching at his lapels as if she too had gone weak, and their lips mashed awkwardly. Poppy pulled back, turning a brilliant shade of magenta. Tenderness kicked into his heart.
“I’m sorry.” She turned impossibly pinker. “I… I haven’t kissed a man before.”
He grinned. “Me either.”
She hit his shoulder lightly. “You know what I mean.”
“Mmm…” He wrapped an arm about her waist, drawing her nearer as he leaned against the willow, pleased to note that she did not protest. One thing he knew decidedly about Poppy Ellis was that she did not let anyone order her about. Sweet God, but her weight along his body felt good. “I do.” He brushed another kiss over her lips; now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t kissed anyone either.”
She studied him as though he were an exotic animal, or perhaps she merely thought him mad. “Why not?”
He stroked her cheek. “Because I hadn’t wanted to until now.” It was the truth. He was male, and thus he’d spent his fair share of time thinking of tupping, but his imaginings had been of faceless women. He wasn’t the sort to seduce the busty chambermaid or pay for a whore’s services.
When she opened her mouth to question, he slid his hand into her hair to cup the back of her warm neck. “Shall we practice together?” he murmured before finding her lips again.
Her eyes fluttered closed as he sampled her mouth with small touches of his lips.
Her voice grew husky. “I am quite…”—another kiss—“a proponent of…”—he kissed her again—“thorough practicing.”
“Good,” he whispered against her mouth.
She sighed, and the need to taste her turned into a desperate thing. He kissed her harder, opening her lips with his, coming at her from different angles to learn the texture of her—the softness of her lips and the sweet moistness of her mouth. On impulse, he touched his tongue to hers, and his world went white hot. She tasted like rain and felt like heaven. He groaned and did it again, his hand clutching her satin hair to keep her in place. But she wasn’t going anywhere. Her fingers tangled into his hair as she kissed him back, her slick tongue twining with his.
Rain fell in ice-cold drops against his cheeks. He wouldn’t be surprised if they sizzled on contact; he was so hot. His breath came in bursts as his body started to shiver with need. When he could no longer breathe, he broke off the kiss, only far enough to look at her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. Where have you been all my life? And what took you so long to find me? He had the strangest feeling that only now, at this moment, had he truly become whole.
“I’m going to marry you,” he whispered against her lips.
He felt her smile, and her slim arms pulled him closer. “Cheeky. One kiss and already you are so sure of yourself?”
In this? “Oh, yes.”
Chapter Eight
Cool quiet greeted Jack as he entered the solace of his room. He loved that first moment of truly being alone in a secure space. It stripped a layer away from him, as if taking off his greatcoat. He’d never had a home that was solely his, not really. But thanks to Ian Ranulf, he’d had a room and a position as part of a pack. At the end of a long day, Jack liked nothing better than to shut his door, lie upon his bed, and read a good book. No one knew, of course. And he’d deny it if asked, but it was the truth. He craved his own personal space like he craved air.
It had hurt when Ian first urged him to go with Lane. Jack wasn’t an idiot. He knew what Ian was doing. Throwing him out of the nest. Perhaps he had hidden behind the walls of Ian’s home for too long. He was man enough to admit that at least.
Now he was tired. The damned demon had eluded him all day. Jack craved a stiff drink and a short nap before heading out once more. Shrugging out of his coat and tossing it aside, Jack had taken two steps when he stopped short. He wasn’t alone. His knife was in his hand and he was whirling around to face his bed in an instant, knowing in the back of his mind that he’d have already been dead if it was a true attack. When he saw what greeted him, all available blood within his body surged south, and his heart pounded. Great, hot f**k. His knife hand shook before he clenched it tight.