Page 24 of Sunshine
“Quit being a brat,” I reply. “And focus. If you need me, I’ll be over here making the salad.”
I force myself not to hover as Poppy eases the burgers into the pan, but I can tell by the way they sizzle that she’ll probably get them in and out of the oil without ruining the meal, so I stick to my job and leave Poppy to hers. Barely a minute later, a loud pop sounds from the pan, and Poppy cries out in pain.
I drop my knife onto the cutting board and rush over to her just as Izzy jumps to her feet, her little face afraid. “Poppy! What happened?”
I hold up a hand to let Izzy know she isn’t allowed to come any closer as I close in on Poppy’s injury.
“I’m okay,” Poppy reassures her with a tight smile. “I just got too close to the oil.”
Poppy has her right hand wrapped around her left wrist, her brow is creased, and her gray eyes are glassy. I know without asking that she’s burned herself. Moving with the experience of someone who’s worked in a kitchen since he was eighteen years old, I switch off the heat under the pan, turn on the faucet, and wrap my hand around Poppy’s arm, directing her wrist to the cold running water.
“Keep it there,” I tell her.
It’s a miracle—or perhaps an indication of the pain she’s in—that she doesn’t argue. While she’s standing at the sink, I flip the burgers onto some paper towels and retrieve the first aid kit before turning off the water so I can examine Poppy’s wrist.
“It’s not too bad,” I say with relief. “It’ll sting for a day or two, and you may have a blister, but it shouldn’t leave a scar. Do you want a bandage?”
“No, thank you.” Poppy’s voice is a little shaky as she pulls her arm away. “I think I’m okay.”
She lifts her wrist to get a better look at the pink scald mark over her pulse point, and my eyes drop to her mouth as her lips form a pursed “o” to blow on the spot.
“Kiss it better!” Izzy shouts.
My head jerks up at the same time as Poppy’s, both of us glancing first at Izzy before our gazes snap together like magnets.
“That’s okay.” Poppy’s focus falls to my mouth, then drifts north to my eyes again. “I don’t think—”
“Daddy’s kiss will make it better,” Izzy insists. “Trust me.”
Poppy’s throat moves in a deep swallow. “You don’t have to,” she whispers, even as she offers me her hand.
I accept it, then dip my head and press my lips to her wrist. I don’t mean for it to happen, but my tongue sweeps across the burn, caressing her skin as I drink in the flutter of her pulse. It’s a long, slow lick meant to soothe, and Poppy responds with a quivering exhale.
I glance up from where I hover over her wrist. Her pupils are dilated, and her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, but it’s only when my body responds with a hot rush of arousal that I realize what I’ve done.
I drop Poppy’s hand and step back. Fuck.Fuck.
“Someone named Wade is calling you,” Izzy announces.
I assume she’s talking to me, but I don’t have any phone contacts named Wade.
“Who?” I ask, distracted by Poppy’s wide eyes and parted lips, until she wrests her gaze from mine and rushes over to Izzy, who holds up a vibrating phone that doesn’t belong to me.
“It’s nobody,” Poppy says as she silences the ringtone.
It’s notnobody. Not if he makes her react like that. And slowly, the thinking part of my brain starts to work again.
“Is that…” I take a step toward her, my hand coasting through my hair. “That’s not Wade Mitchell, is it?”
Wade Mitchell was Poppy’s on-again, off-again high school boyfriend, not to mention an asshole with barely six brain cells and a habit of breaking her heart. I can’t count the number of times I warned him to stay away from her all those years ago, but it only ever stuck for a day. A week. A month. No matter how badly he hurt her or how many times I told her she could do better, Poppy always forgave him, and I never understood why.
Now she stuffs her phone in her bag like she’s trying to hide evidence. “It might be.”
The fire Poppy lit in my blood flashes white-hot. “Why the fuck is Wade Mitchell calling you?”
Izzy gasps. “Daddy said a bad word!”
Fuck.
