frustration made his eyes go dark. She sympathized, but wouldn’t let him go. “I am here to protect you, Win. Whether you like it or not.”
The wrong thing to say, apparently. His nostrils flared, and his gaze frosted over. “So then,” he murmured against her lips, “is this the full-service guarding that you usually provide?”
She wrenched him.
“Ah!” Win fell to the floor, cupping himself. “Christ!” He hissed again, then looked up at her through the wild strands of his hair as Poppy stepped around him. “Bad form, Poppy. Exceedingly.”
“Come now, I did not do it that hard.”
His even, white teeth snapped together with a click. “Had you balls, madam, I’d be happy to reciprocate. Then we’d see who was flippant.”
“Idle threats, Win.”
“Poppy Ann Lane,” he snarled. “You get back here.”
“You know,” she tossed over her shoulder, “at the moment, I’m sorely considering going by Poppy Ellis once more.”
“We are not finished with this.”
Her heels clipped against the floor as she strode farther away. “Oh, I believe we are.”
Chapter Seven
London, 1869—A Kiss
It had been one week since he’d last seen her. Propriety demanded that Winston wait that long to call on Poppy again. But he was beginning to think to hell with propriety. The way he thought of Poppy was far from proper. And waiting had nearly driven him mad. Her scent, from where she’d brushed up against him on the way back to her home, had faded from his coat, and he longed for it. He’d longed for everything about her—the sound of her voice, the quick flash of her eyes, and her touch.
But now she was with him again, walking at his side, her slim hand a light, yet profound weight upon his arm. They hadn’t spoken for some moments, Poppy nibbling on her bottom lip as they strolled along, and he wondering what had caused her sudden and obvious case of nervousness. Her cheek held a faint blush, and her eyes would not fully meet his.
Unable to stand the suspense any longer, he cleared his throat. “Have I done something to offend you?” He refused to entertain the notion that she did not want to be with him.
Her smooth gait bobbled, but she corrected it quickly. Her flush, however, spread. “No.” She made a small noise, and her fingers twitched on his arm. “I am… well, that is to say, I am simply glad to see you, Mr. Lane.”
It was his turn to falter. He stopped and turned to face her. Pink-cheeked and flustered, she met his eyes with effort, and a grin spread over his face, one that he felt with his whole being. “I am very glad to see you too, Miss Ellis.”
Watching him, she too began to grin, a slow, wide unfurling of a smile that had him leaning toward her. But then, with sudden and violent fury, the wind whipped about them and it started to rain, a spring downpour that had idle strollers scrambling to leave and the more prepared London folk pulling out their umbrellas.
“Come!” Grabbing her hand, he ran them along the path, toward the willow that they’d stopped under before.
Breathless and laughing, they huddled underneath its canopy, and Poppy smiled up at him. “I had no idea you could move so quickly, Mr. Lane.”
He laughed a bit, but tried to pull it in. “Ought I have taken better care of your sensibilities, Miss Ellis?”
Poppy shook her head, her eyes still alight. “I would be extremely disappointed should you coddle me, Mr. Lane.”
Beneath the willow, it remained relatively dry, but a drop broke through and landed on her high, curved cheek. It rolled down from the corner of her eye like a tear. He caught it with his thumb and rubbed it away from her smooth skin. Touching her sent a bolt of heat down his center, and he stepped closer, cupping her jaw, loving the way her breath audibly quickened.
Then he did what he’d been dying to do since he’d met her. His lips brushed hers, and his breath hitched. Soft. So utterly soft. Yet the contact made his lungs hurt. He pulled back just enough that their lips still touched when they breathed. “As I suspected. You are heaven.” And then he had to do it again, caress her parted lips. He hadn’t realized how a kiss could make him go utterly weak.
She stumbled into him, her hands clutching at his lapels as if she too had gone weak, and their lips mashed awkwardly. Poppy pulled back, turning a