aside, as though to reveal her to the new guy, Poppy grabbed for him and pulled him one way as she ducked the other, concealing herself.
“She’s shy,” Turner said.
“Apparently,” the new guy said. “Have you been hiding women up here the whole time? Is that why you never let us go above six?”
“It’s a long story.”
“One you didn’t tell me before I got here,” the new guy said. “Pres know about this?”
“Why would Pres know about this?”
“Pres knows about everything. Correction, I thought Pres knew about everything. Does Val know?”
“You gonna go through everyone? No, no one knows,” Turner said, his head moving toward his shoulder. “No one was supposed to know about it.”
That growl was meant for her, he was scolding her. “I didn’t know you meant I had to be gone,” Poppy said, still clinging to one of his arms, pulling herself in closer behind him. Damnit, he smelled so good. It really wasn’t the time for her body to be noticing how arousing the scent of man and sawdust combined could be. “I’m naked.”
“Why do you think I was mad?” Turner hissed between his teeth, not that there was anyway his buddy didn’t hear him. “We’ve got stuff to unload. We’ll go back downstairs and give her a half hour.”
Turner tried to step away from her, but the new guy just laughed. “Are you kidding? This is high quality stuff.”
“This is no quality stuff,” Turner growled. “Because you’re going to forget you saw anything.”
“What is it? She’s on the run? Fraudster? Thief? Murderess?”
“You think I’d harbor a fugitive?” Turner asked, unimpressed.
“Think that’s a damn good reason for Pres not to know.”
“That’s a damn good reason for him to know,” Turner said. “He’d be the first one I’d call.”
“Well, you see…” the guy said, slapping a hand on Turner’s shoulder, which startled her, so she let him go to bounce closer to his spine. Resting her head against him, Poppy begged the moment to be over. “Pres is usually the first one you call… So if it’s not for Pres, it’s for…”
“Charley,” Turner said and the guy’s hand fell away. “Yeah, not so smug now, huh?”
“You’re screwing her project? Wow, did you decide to go for broke? Is this a bet? A dare? This Naught’s idea or did you get terminal news?”
“Leave it alone.”
“Hey, I can keep a secret. You know I’m good for it,” his friend said, his voice alive with excitement. “I just wanna meet her. She’s brunette, right? You and brunettes.”
“Stop that shit,” Turner said. “There’s nothing going on.”
The friend just scoffed. “Yeah, right, she doesn’t mind being naked all pressed up against you.”
Something Poppy hadn’t really thought about until that second. The towel was the only thing between her skin and the open air. She always dressed last; it just made sense. Less chance of overheating in the day’s outfit, creasing it, or getting makeup everywhere.
When she lifted her head from Turner’s back, Poppy noticed the damp stain left on his shirt by her hair. Oops. Her fingertips touched the mark. It would dry, it wouldn’t take long, yet… She’d never touched him before, never. Why hadn’t she noticed that? They never shook hands. He’d taken the bottle and the bills from her without them ever making contact.
They were making contact then. Rather, she was making contact with him. Her fingertips drifted down toward his hip as her other slid on to match the course on the other side. His body was hard beneath the warm cotton of his tee-shirt; the muscles didn’t yield much to her touch. Even when she pressed her fingernails into the material, she could only be awed by his resistance.
His hand snatched her fingers from his side, squeezing them so tight that her mouth opened.
“She likes playing with fire,” Turner said, grinding out each of the words like his patience was hanging on by a thread.
Poppy wasn’t exactly sure if he was mad or… something else. But when he yanked her sideways, away from the shield of his body, her only choice was to move in response to his strength. Grabbing for the towel in her cleavage, Poppy held it for security and offered the man scrutinizing her a tight smile.
“Poppy,” she said, holding her hand out to him when Turner let her go.
“Poppy,” the friend said, his brows ascending. “That’s it? Just Poppy?”
“What? Are you gonna Google her?” Turner asked. “I said leave it the hell alone.”
Not giving out her last name was a deliberate choice. When she’d