Poppy tuts. “Guess I’ll just stand.”
I have zero interest in showing her the evidence of what she’s done to me. So, I snake an arm around her waist and haul her back in.
She lets out the most adorable squeal I’ve ever heard, burying her giggle in my neck. I turn my smirk into her hair, my fingers slipping to her ribs andsqueezinguntil she makes that sound again.
“You stay right where you are,Petit Diable.”
When she lifts her easy smile, I nearly lose mine. She’s fucking angelic with that smile. AndI’mthe one that put it there.
Her gaze drifts to my softening grin.
Too long. She’s been looking at me like this too damn long for me not to notice. I don’t know when or why it started. It’s like her unease around me dissolved and morphed into desire. It’s torture, because I don’t know if this is genuine or if it’s just her way of mastering her fear.
And I’ve had enough of guessing.
Carefully, I reach up and trace a finger down the length of her hair. It’s as smooth as spidersilk, as soft as poppy petals. She doesn’t move, neither leaning in nor breaking away. Watching me like a panther assessing another panther.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Poppy searches my eyes. Her bourbon-sweet breath clouds over my face as she whispers, “I was once, but not anymore.”
This may be my only chance to right my wrong.
I palm her jaw and tilt her head up, pressing my lips to the soft hollow of her cheek. It’s my apology, the only way I can give it to her. Her heart pounds a battle beat into my fingertips resting at her pulsing carotid, and I pull away.
She fists my lapels, keeping me close. Her saccharine scent intoxicates all my senses.
“I forgive you, Brontë. Bygones?”
“Bygones.” I slide my hand through her hair, idly toying with the ends as she traces a fingernail over my tattoos. “You’re absolutely lustrous tonight,Petit Diable.”
“You’re not such an eyesore yourself.” She remains close, the tip of her nose brushing mine with each rapid breath I can taste on my tongue. “You need to start sharing those cigars,monsieur.They make for the sexiest cologne. Dr. Frankenstein’s Wet Dreams, Bax would call it.”
I chuckle, daring to splay my palm low on her spine. “I’ll share mine if you share yours.”
Her lashes flutter in time with her hummingbird heartbeat. “When and where?”
“Hm.” I pretend to consider, drawing idle circles over those tantalizing dimples. “Now and here.”
Shetsks, dragging a fingertip down the column of my throat.“That’s rather bold of you.”
“I’m merely a man who knows what he wants.”
“Oh? What do you want?”
I grip my glass too tight to hang onto my own diminishing willpower. “What I shouldn’t have.”
“Adam and Eve got away with it in the end, didn’t they?”
Angels, the urge to give in and capture that tempting mouth with mine is overwhelming. My self-control is on the verge of being crushed in the deluge of hunger as her teasing grin flirts with my own. A snarl slips out of me, and it sounds like a starving beast being taunted with an endless feast.
“So desperate for me,” she breathes through my parted lips, drawn by the same polar force I feel in my own bones as she slowly, slowly closes what little space is left between us. “I like it.”
A demoralizing sound escapes me, muted by a cry of pleasure rattling the glass wall from the other side. Overtaken by primal need, I lurch forward.
“No time for a quickie, I’m afraid,” drawls a lightly accented voice.
Poppy jolts with a gasp, nearly dropping her drink and toppling from my lap. I barely save her in time, banding my arm around her and folding her into my chest.