‘No.’ Her voice was low. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about on that score. But what about me? Are you safe?’ She remembered his multitude of partners in all those press reports and her insides tightened.
‘Don’t worry. I’m clean as a whistle.’ Yet the tension around his mouth told her there was something on his mind.
She waited but he said nothing about the risk of pregnancy.
Of course. He assumed she’d have that covered. No doubt he imagined her hopping from bed to bed. Frantically she calculated dates in her head, reassuring herself the chances of pregnancy were slim.
That was another reason to veto his proposition. Getting pregnant to her ex would be a mistake even more momentous than her error in marrying him.
Slowly she hauled herself up the stairs, conscious of Orsino’s eyes on her. Shame filled Poppy at the needy ache between her legs, sign of the weakness he’d reawakened within her.
Yet even in the privacy of her room she couldn’t get his outrageous suggestion out of her head. It had a terrible, seductive logic, which just showed how off balance she was.
She’d once made a catastrophic mistake, believing love could conquer all, despite what she knew about love turning women into victims. She’d loved Orsino with a passion that overrode sense, marrying him in a whirlwind of excitement. She’d ignored the voice of warning, telling herself their love would make it right.
But it hadn’t been their love, had it? It had been hers alone. She’d fallen head over heels for him. But Orsino? He’d always held part of himself back, maintaining a depth of reserve masked by charm and potent sexuality.
History had repeated itself. First her parents then her and Orsino.
Loving and losing had almost destroyed her. She couldn’t countenance the idea of giving herself in love again.
So if not love, what about lust? Was there sense in Orsino’s words? She couldn’t shake the insidious idea he might be right.
Maybe she could practise what he preached, take lovers to assuage this hunger he’d reawakened. In five years she hadn’t managed to eradicate him. Could a no-holds-barred sexual relationship do what abstinence hadn’t and free her once and for all?
Poppy showered so long the flesh on her fingers started to pucker, but no answer presented itself. Common sense and the voice of temptation raced round her head, like mice on a never-ending wheel.
Slicking back the weight of wet hair from her face she turned off the water then leaned, palms braced, against the tiled shower wall. She’d thought to wash off Orsino’s touch and scent, but the warm spray of water had only energised her still-aroused body, making her regret the speed of what had happened downstairs. She hadn’t felt his touch on her bare skin and, tucked away in the privacy of her bathroom, she admitted the truth—that she wanted that, wanted Orsino, more than anything.
Poppy squeezed her eyes shut, berating herself. This wouldn’t do.
Reaching out for the shower door she instead encountered hot flesh. Bare hot flesh with a delicious smattering of crisp hair.
Her eyes sprang open.
‘Orsino!’
One look at her and Orsino knew he’d been right to come. Without time to don her touch-me-not hauteur, Poppy’s expression betrayed her. The dreamy yearning in her eyes, the ripe invitation of her parted lips, the way she swayed towards him instead of recoiling.
Oh, yes, she wanted him as he did her. That went some way towards silencing his concerns about the immensity of his hunger for her.
The feel of her damp palm splaying over his chest made his heart erupt in a tattoo of need.
‘Who else?’ His voice was unsteady as his gaze dropped to her delicious body, glowing softly from the heat of the shower. High, pert breasts that made his palms ache to hold them. Dark raspberry nipples. A long, lithe sweep of torso down to a waist that he knew fitted his hands perfectly. The purely feminine curve of hips cradling that dark russet triangle of soft hair. He swallowed convulsively, remembering the taste of her on his tongue. Slender, strong legs and narrow, sexy feet.
‘Here.’ He took her by the elbow, guiding her out of the shower cubicle. ‘Let me.’ He lifted the enormous bath towel he held and draped it around her shoulders, pulling her closer.
‘You shouldn’t be here. I didn’t invite you.’ He heard her reaching for indignation but she couldn’t quite achieve it.
And they both knew why.
‘Where else would I be?’ Slowly he rubbed her shoulders through the plush towelling. ‘I want you. And you want me.’ He paused, waiting. ‘Don’t you, Poppy?’
Her breath hitched and her dazed eyes grew heavy-lidded as his hands found her breasts through the thick towel.