There was a sudden clamor for the desk, and Poppy and William found themselves ushered over to it. Directions were given, and the two of them arranged themselves accordingly. William bent nearer, and placed his palms down flat on either side of her; Poppy lifted her hand to touch his cheek. His skin was warm, and rough, and so evocative of easy masculinity that she couldn't help losing herself in the moment for a second…only a second. The spicy aroma of his cologne washed over her. She forbade herself from breathing it in too deeply. It was probably formulated to be intoxicating to women.
"You have silver in your hair," she observed.
"Is that your way of implying that I'm old?"
"I think it's distinguished," Poppy replied, before another shouted suggestion had William flipping her and bending her over the desk. His crotch butted up against her ass. Poppy was certain her face must have been bright scarlet in this position—if it were a color in her favorite lipstick line, it would have been "Giveaway Red". But the tone of the room had shifted from mischievous to contemplative, and many of the women were taking furious notes and consulting one another. William politely held the pose for them. The hand that cradled her ribcage and forced her back to arch beneath him stroked her belly idly, and Poppy squirmed.
"Okay. We decided that position is a little too racy and impersonal," one of the authors said.
You think? Poppy wanted to cry out.
"What about this one?" To her surprise, it was William who offered the suggestion. He grabbed her waist and flipped her around so that she was angled back against the desk beneath him. Poppy quickly rearranged herself, then hiked one leg up and looked to her audience. Several of them gasped with happiness. They had just struck gold.
"Now sort of…thread your fingers though her hair," one of the authors instructed. William did. The pressure on Poppy's scalp made her whole head tingle. He didn't just abide by the placement, he actually tugged, and her head fell back a little. She looked up into his eyes. She wanted to smile to reassure him, but she couldn't remember how. His suddenly introspective look pulled her, and it was an alarming moment when she realized: he doesn't need to be reassured. He knew exactly what he was doing. It was only the circumstances surrounding the move that threw him off.
"Now kiss her," one of the authors, the one with her phone out, suggested. Poppy tried to turn her head in alarm, but William's fingers held her fast.
"What?" she squeaked.
"Please, Miss Hanniford, all the best-selling novels have kicked it up a notch in recent years." One author with thick-rimmed glasses spoke. She seemed totally untitillated by the whole affair. She must have been in this business a long time, Poppy realized. "It's not enough to be brought in for a kiss. The reader needs to see what that union would look like. If the chemistry described in the book blurb is really there."
"Chemistry?" There's no chemistry between us, Poppy wanted to argue. She glanced between the faces of the other women who were looking on. They were rapt and waiting.
There's no chemistry between us, right?
"I don't mind if you don't mind." William's voice was a low rumble. Poppy looked back at him sharply. By giving his consent to continue, he had highlighted her own uncertainty to the crowded room.
"I don't mind at all," she said. "Kiss me all you want."
"All right. I will."
Another long minute passed between them. Then the hand on her scalp tightened in resolution, and William leaned in. Poppy's heart raced as he placed a quick peck on her lips and withdrew. Disappointment flooded her, much more bitter than the adrenaline she had been feeling seconds earlier.
"Oh nooo. Not like that. You can't kiss her like that!" one of the authors moaned.
"We can't get a good photo unless you let it linger," another griped.
"After all that build-up, you can't just peck at her like a chicken!"
Poppy covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile as William's eyes narrowed. "It helps if you remember that they're writers," she whispered between her fingers.
William's scowl deepened. "How could I forget?"
"They like deploying metaphors. Don't take it personally."
"She's a breathtakingly beautiful woman!" one of the other authors called. "How can you look at her and be satisfied with something that…uninspired?"
"I never said anything about being satisfied," William growled below his breath. Their bodies were pressed so closely together that Poppy could feel his voice reverberating in his chest through her own. "I find this whole exercise unsatisfactory. And ridiculous."
"Shhh," Poppy hissed. The women were absorbed in their work, and she didn't want William's crankiness to throw cold water on the creative process. Then again, cold water might not be a bad idea. Her skin felt fever-hot. It must have only been her imagination; she was certain William was the kind of man to keep the temperature in his office strictly regulated. "What is this ridiculous desk for, if not to kiss a woman up against? Just pretend I'm someone you like if it makes it easier for you."
He studied her. They were so close she could see his eyes weren't as impen
etrable as she had first imagined; in fact, they weren't even brown, but a dark meridian blue.
"I've never enjoyed taking what was easy," William murmured. His face leaned in toward her, and…
Poppy burst out laughing. It was a nervous giggle, and she was mortified in the aftermath—she hadn't interrupted a kiss like that since high school—but it was enough to halt the proceedings yet again. William's expression froze. His eyes caught fire, and the arms around her constricted like hot bands. Poppy opened her mouth to offer up an apology.