Page 71 of Wicked Love

“Poppy,” I call.

She doesn’t stop, disappearing around the corner. My long strides catch up with her just as she pauses to flip through the clipboard, and before I can second-guess myself, I reach out and place a hand on her elbow.

She whirls around, colliding into my chest with anoof. The clipboard slips from her hands, clattering to the floor.

“Bowie?” she says, blinking up at me in surprise.

I mean to step back, to give her space, but she tilts her head, her blue eyes locking onto mine, and every rational thought flees.

A stray strand of hair falls across her cheek and I reach out and tuck it behind her ear. My fingers brush against her skin and her mouth parts as she stares up at me.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice quieter now, rough with something I don’t want to name.

Her mouth parts wider, but no sound comes out. Her gaze drops to my lips then back to my eyes. The tension between us hums with electricity. My pulse pounds in my ears as I take a half step closer, my hand still lightly gripping her elbow.

“You don’t…seem like yourself.” I wince. “Did I do something to?—”

“No. You’re good. You’re…great.”

Her voice is so soft and so sweet, her full lips beckoning me closer. Without giving it a second thought, I lean in and kiss her.

The moment my lips meet hers, the world tilts and settles all at once. She melts into me, her hands sliding up to grip my shoulders as she kisses me back. I deepen the kiss, my free hand coming up to cup the side of her face, my thumbbrushing her cheek. She tastes so good,feelsso good. Heat spirals through me and steals the breath from my lungs until there’s only this. Only her.

I angle my head, kissing her with a hunger that I’ve been too busy denying myself. For the life of me now, I can’t understand why I ever held back. When I’m kissing her like this, I never want it to end. Our lips were made for this, that’s all there is to it.

But she breaks away and we’re both breathing hard, our foreheads touching.

Poppy tilts her head back, her eyes dazed. “What…was that?”

My thumb caresses her jaw as I swallow hard. My voice is hoarse when I finally speak.

“That…was long overdue.”

I want to apologize for being cold after we had sex, apologize for bolting mentally whenever I’m around her, apologize for kissing her at work when I can’t spend the next hour kissing her more.

But she takes another step back and her face is stricken. Shit. Not what I was expecting.

“I have to go,” she says, her eyes getting glassy.

What is happening right now? Is she about to cry? My God, how did I misread the moment that much?

I step back too and nod. “Okay.”

She blinks and nods. “Okay.”

And then she turns and takes off in the opposite direction.

Becca and I pull into the driveway. She’s chatting away about the game they played, and I’m distracted by the fact that Poppy was nowhere to be found when I went back to BriarHill. I’d planned to talk to her, maybe smooth things over after the kiss, or at least figure out if I’ve done something wrong…but she wasn’t there.

My thoughts are interrupted when we step into the house.

“You can’t possibly think it’s appropriate to move my things,” my mom’s clipped tone echoes from the kitchen.

“I was simply trying to make room for Becca’s plate,” Mrs. McGregor says. “She likes to see?—”

“Her plate doesn’t need to be out,” Mom argues.

I stop in the kitchen doorway, my shoulders tense. The sight before me is something out of a sitcom, but it’s more like my nightmare: my mom, standing ramrod straight with her arms crossed, glaring daggers at Mrs. McGregor, who stands her ground with a broom in hand like she’s ready to take flight.

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