One Day Fiance

“Connor—” Poppy pleads quietly, and I fight to let it roll off my back.

I can’t let it develop. Not what she’s doing. Not what she’s awakening inside me. I can’t have it. It’s not meant for people like me.

Trying to keep ahold of what’s threatening to rise inside me, I interrupt whatever puppy dog-eyed plea she’s about to unleash. Quietly this time, I remind her, “One day. Just one day as my fiancée. Dinner, that was all I agreed to, and that was only after you stepped in where you weren’t wanted.”

She flinches, and regret for my words is bitter on my tongue. I don’t want to cause her pain . . . and for some reason I don’t want to examine too closely, Poppy’s pain turns me away from the path I know I should take, hurting her now to save her long-term devastation. “Shit. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it,” she says, ducking her head down. Suddenly, the fiery, mouthy spitfire is gone, replaced with someone small and unsure.

What . . . what’s happened to her? Did I do that?

“Poppy,” I try, leaning down closer, but she ducks even farther away from me. “Pops, look at me.”

I don’t even realize I’m doing it until my fingers touch the soft skin of her jaw, guiding her chin up and her eyes to mine. My thumb brushes back and forth, enjoying the silky feel of her cheek, and I say something that I’ve said maybe a handful of times in the past few years. I apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m the one who’s not wanted here.”

She licks her lips slowly, speaking carefully. “Connor, I don’t think that’s true. I think Caylee very much wants you here, and your mom does too. Not just because of whatever weird feud she’s got going with Audrey and Ian, either.” She shakes her head like she’s trying to rattle all the thoughts in her head together before putting them into something logical, but there’s no logic in that. So she lets them pour out regardless, imperfect and unfiltered. “I couldn’t take it, their talking to you and about you like that. I barely know you, and you stole my laptop, but even I can tell that you’re not the monster they make you out to be. Or that you make yourself out to be.”

I’m surprised. No, I’m shocked to my very core. Poppy has no reason to defend me or to believe in me. I am quite literally the boogieman in her life, the monster who stole her lifeblood, but yet, she’s defending me?

Why?

She seems softer, vulnerable as she looks up at me, waiting for me to disagree with her. But footsteps along the wood floor tell me someone’s coming, and I act impulsively, something I never do.

I kiss her. This isn’t some polite peck on the lips, either. I claim her, full-mouthed and passionate, no gentle caresses, no slow tasting. I kiss her like I’ve done it hundreds of times before and she’s mine to kiss. Her hands reflexively lift to my chest, and for a second, I think she’s going to push me away. She should. I absolutely deserve that and have done nothing to earn her kiss. But instead, her hands curl into my shirt, holding me in place.

I angle my head to get deeper, wanting more, and nip her bottom lip when she doesn’t give in. When she gasps in surprise, I take advantage and push my tongue into her mouth.

I don’t know what’s come over me, but I like it, even as warning bells are going off loudly in my head. Poppy melts for me, matching my intensity without restraint or second thought. Her tongue fights with mine for control, something I refuse to give up.

Between my legs, I’m hard as a rock, wanting this fiery woman’s body as well as her mouth. I push into her, our bodies aligned as I press her against the unyielding wall. Poppy’s hands wrap around my neck, one leg lifting to rest her thigh on my hip, and I feel warm heat press against the bulge in my slacks.

My God, she wants me too. After all she’s seen . . . and she wants me. I hold her leg there, squeezing the taut muscle with my strong palm, and she moans into my mouth.

I swallow the sound, wanting more of her passion.

“Ahem,” a too-close voice says. Ian.

Poppy startles and jumps, her mouth leaving mine as she follows the sound, and I definitely want to pop my cousin in the nose for breaking us up. “Oh, uh . . . sorry.”

Her apology is accompanied by a small giggle, like a schoolgirl who got caught by the principal making out in the hallway with a boy. But she is no girl, I’m not a boy, and Ian is definitely not worthy of being any sort of morality police. He might not be responsible for the rift between Mom and Aunt Audrey . . . but this apple did not fall far from the poisoned tree, and he’s rotten to his core.