Page 63 of All is Fair in Love
It would be all too easy for her to judge Francis for his privileged upbringing, to view him as being pampered and soft. But Poppy was quickly learning that when it came to her next-door neighbor, there were different layers to him. His weaknesses were more than offset by his strengths. A one-dimensional dandy he was not. Francis was complex. It made Poppy want to get to know him better.
She poured them both a cup of coffee and handed one to him. While he took a seat, Poppy found a knife and proceeded to cut away the burnt bottoms of the cakes.
Francis picked up one of the sugar cakes, examined it briefly, then bit into it. Poppy’s gaze shifted from the half-eaten food to Francis’s face. Their eyes met. There was a distinct glint of mischief in his, an open challenge for her to say something.
Poppy picked up another of the cakes and took a bite. After finishing her mouthful, she washed it down with a sip of hot coffee.
For a few minutes they sat in contented silence, eating and drinking. She couldn’t remember the last time she had indulged in such a simple pleasure. The sense of easy calm which settled in her mind was most welcome.
Brushing the last of the cake crumbs from his fingers, Francis sat back in his chair. “That was delicious. Even the burnt bits were tasty,” he said.
She shot him a disapproving but mischievous glance. “Don’t be cheeky. The sugar caramelizes when it is hot. That is what you tasted; there were no blackened edges.”
Rising from her chair, Poppy collected her cup. Francis followed suit. They narrowly avoided colliding with one another as they both stepped away from the table.
“Sorry,” she said.
Francis shook his head. “I should be the one apologizing. I do tend to take up a lot of room.”
His gaze dropped to her lips, and Poppy’s breath caught. The silence in the room was so heavy it was as if time had suddenly stopped. It took all her energy just to blink.
He bent forward, and her vision was filled with his smiling face. A hand reached out and touched her cheek. Strong, but gentle fingers brushed over her skin. “You have a crumb or two of cake on your face,” he said.
The warmth in his voice sent a frisson of heat racing down Poppy’s spine.
Touch me. Please.
His fingers wiped another crumb away from the corner of her lips, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to open her mouth. Poppy was certain that if she did, Francis would slip his thumb inside and let her play. She was desperate for the salty taste of his skin.
“Poppy,” he murmured.
Francis lowered his head. She didn’t pull away, silently begging the heavens to allow what she hoped was about to happen to take place.
This man, the one who had tormented her when she had first arrived in London, was about to kiss her. Claim her lips with his. Take and plunder. She wanted nothing more than for this Viking to do as his ancestors had done. Seize everything. Her lands were ready to cede all power to him.
Yes. Oh, please yes.
His fingers continued to brush over her cheek. She didn’t care that her face was hot and flushed. He was doing this to her. He had to know the effect he was having on every nerve in her body. When she drew in a shaky breath, she could have sworn he growled in response.
“Francis,” she gushed.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
What the devil?
The crash of someone pounding on the front door tore Poppy out of the moment. Francis immediately stepped back.
No. This can’t be happening.
The knock came again. Whoever it was outside, they were most insistent.
“You had better get that,” he said.
Dropping her cup carelessly onto the table, Poppy marched around the dividing wall and opened the door.
“This had better be bloody important,” she muttered angrily.
On the doorstep stood a young lad, no older than ten. In his arms was a large leather satchel.
