Madness must run in her veins because his ire made her so very hot. Her breath hitched before she could speak. “What is wrong?”
He thrust up a hand. “Do not engage me, Poppy. I am in no mood for a discussion right now.”
She slammed the door shut behind her. Correction. He made her bloody furious. She ripped her gloves off and flung them on the side table. “Why is it that we must wait for your favor to engage in conversation?”
He stopped short, and his glare was a blaze of winter-blue anger. “Pardon, madam, but are you accusing me of being petulant?”
“Oh, don’t be coy, Win. You know you are, and it’s bloody annoying.”
A slow wash of red crept up his neck. Poppy held his gaze as her heart pounded. Win would never hurt her, not physically. He’d been a gentleman, careful and considerate. But that was before. There was a wildness in his eyes that had her breath coming short.
The moment stretched until she fought the urge to fidget or look away. But then it snapped when he spoke.
“Your dress is pink.”
She blinked. “Yes.”
“I don’t like it. Take it off.”
The bloody, rude, arrogant bastard. No one ordered her about in such a manner. She was of a mind to tell him just that. Only she paused. Win was not no one. He was her husband. And beneath the flare of anger in his eyes and the mulish set of his jaw, she saw something that made her breath catch—interest, need. He wanted her dress off, did he?
“No,” she said. Lust curled between her legs, and her pulse raced.
Win’s eyes narrowed. Poppy stepped away from the door and closer to him. Closer to the bed. There was more than one way to communicate. And if he refused to do so with words, then perhaps actions would take them past this impasse. Behind the folds of her skirts, her hands were fists, trembling and cold. But her chin lifted.
“You want my dress off, then take it off yourself.”
His mouth opened and shut. The line of his shoulders tensed. They regarded each other in silence until the mad rush of her blood filled her ears and drowned out all other sound.
“I have half a mind to call your bluff,” he said in a low growl.
“That would imply I am bluffing.”
His nostrils flared. Standing tall and tense, he was the most stirring man she’d ever seen. She’d loved mussing up his polish. Now he was all ragged edges, and she wanted to see it unleashed. Cold heat danced along her skin, lifted the tiny hairs along her arms, and tightened her nipples. His gaze went to her bodice, honing in on her reaction with stunning precision. His body stiffened further.
“Do it,” she said. “Take the dress off me, Win.”
His wintry eyes held hers for one more moment, and then he was stalking forward. With every step he took, the heat within her coiled tighter. He stopped before her, and a visible tremor ran through him. Then his hands were on her, the pads of his fingers rough as he grasped her shoulders and whirled her around in a brisk move. His knuckles grazed her back as he caught hold of her dress and undid the hooks with hard tugs. Poppy braced herself so she would not fall back onto him. Not yet.
“Pink,” he muttered. “Have you any idea…”
The bodice loosened, gaping. “Idea?” Her voice was a breath, her legs trembling.
He didn’t answer but continued to undo her bodice with angry hands. The satin slid over her arms, the bodice falling forward and down to her waist. Cool air hit her exposed skin and she trembled, waiting for the rest. It did not come. On a curse, he stepped away, leaving her wanting. Slowly, Poppy turned, not bothering to hold her bodice up.
But he did not look at her body or the deep pink corset she wore. His eyes held hers. “Are you trying to provoke me?”
Was he blind? The expanse of his chest lifted and fell with each labored breath he took. She let her gaze travel down the length of him, still properly kitted out in his fine evening clothes. Oh but there was one thing about him that was most improper. Her mouth went dry. His massive erection was straining to break free of his trousers.
One of them made a sound; she couldn’t be sure whether it was she or Win, but that magnificent