“That was what you meant last night, when you said you were unhappy.”
“I wasn’t unhappy,” she said, rising from her knees to sit on the bed next to him. “Please don’t think that I was.” Poppy laid a hand on his face. “Being with you was an incredible adventure. I wouldn’t trade a second of it for anything.”
“You wanted more.”
She didn’t want to lie, which made it difficult to respond, so she took a few seconds to think about her words before saying them. “Sometimes when we were talking I wanted to say more, give opinions or suggestions. I would always remind myself of the arrangement and I wouldn’t—”
“I wish you had,” he said, smoothing her hair from her cheeks before cupping them. “I know it was fucked up. I take responsibility for that… for hurting you.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” she said, touching his chest. “It was my fault that I let myself believe… let myself think that maybe…”
“I might love you too?”
Their eyes met. Love. That was the truth. He was the truth. A quake of need went through her. Turner. Her Turner. He was hers. He’d come all this way and stuck around even when she wavered because he was sure, above everything else in the universe, that they were meant to be together.
“Sometimes I think about your dad,” she said, licking her dry, nervous lips. “Your mother told him her dream, what she wanted, and without making a big deal of it, he went out there and made it happen. She wanted a big family. A home to fill with happiness and love. It seemed out of reach, she never thought it would happen, but he made it happen.”
“What’s your dream, baby?” he asked, his thumbs moving in a tender caress. “Let me prove to you that our love is as real as theirs.”
Her dreams were selfish. Val told Ed about hers without knowing how far he’d go to deliver. Just looking into Turner’s eyes, Poppy could tell that he’d be as passionate about hers.
Leaning a little closer, her hands slipped south to gather up the hem of his shirt. Wanting him, needing him, it wasn’t smart, but he didn’t stop her. In fact, he grabbed his shirt at the back of his neck and tugged it off before grabbing her face and pulling their mouths together.
Since their agreement, sex had been allowed. Justifying it to herself was easy, especially when the sweep of his tongue against hers was so certain. More than just desire, Poppy tasted his thirst for her. For them to be together. For forever.
“Turner,” she whispered when he yanked down the zipper of her dress and pulled it off over her head.
He grabbed her torso and picked her up to toss her further onto the mattress and then he was on top of her, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, her throat. Every part of her wanted him and he wanted to sample every part.
The heat of their need grew in time with the throbbing intensity of their urgent touch. It had been too long. Their bodies were on the verge of starvation; a feast was on offer right there on that bed. The only way to live, to keep on breathing, was to sate their hunger. Then and there, hard and fast.
“Turn, you’re not going to believe—oh, holy fuck.”
The shock of another voice reminded Poppy that not only were they in her parents’ house, but the door was open. Pushing Turner away, she tried to sit up, but his lower body stayed on hers, pinning her down.
“Ever think about closing the damn door?” Preston asked. “Never mind a sock on the doorknob.”
“Oh, God,” Poppy said, her words rushed. Somehow Turner’s tee-shirt had ended up beside them, so she grabbed it to hold it against her chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for who?” Turner asked, glaring at his friend. “Did you need something?”
Coming a step closer, Preston turned a tablet toward them. “There’s something you should see.”
“Something more important than this?” Turner growled.
“To me, yes,” Preston said, approaching. “Probably not to you given your alternative option.”
“I’ll leave you guys,” Poppy said, trying to wriggle out from under Turner while putting his tee-shirt on.
“Baby—”
“Stay,” Preston said, seating himself in the bottom corner of the bed. “This is important to both of you.”
There in the middle of Turner’s bed, her legs still tangled with his, Poppy watched as Preston pressed play on a video.
“That’s David Leicester,” she said, just as the image began