possible to feel herself falling, Poppy felt it right then.
Drawn to him, she couldn’t tear her eyes from his. “Turner,” she whispered, her hand rising to his heart.
He wasn’t slow to press his palm to her knuckles, forcing her to feel the rhythm of his pulse. “You can’t… We can’t, I know, but… You can’t move out, it’ll only make this worse… I know you now… I’ll know you’re out there… that you might need something… that you might need me.”
Except it already felt like that. How could they feel such passion for each other, such a connection after such a short time? Poppy knew better than to question it. Grammie always told her that the moment she met William Granger was the same moment she knew she’d marry him. He was only eighteen and she sixteen, but neither of them ever doubted or regretted jumping in with both feet.
That was what Grammie had said, “Jump in, throw yourself into anything that excites your heart and soul.”
Turner did that. Not that it mattered. Poppy could never ask him to compromise himself. This chance, her chance with him, wasn’t one she could grab with both hands. Risking her heart wasn’t the problem. If Turner wanted it, she’d hand it over. Pathetic as it might seem, Poppy already knew that.
“It’s supposed to hurt,” she whispered.
Turner frowned. “What’s supposed to hurt?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Nothing.” It had already reached down deep inside of her. He was a part of her. There wasn’t anything she could do to save herself, but she might be able to save him. “I’ll keep out of your way.” She swallowed away the grief that wanted to escape. “I’ll slip a copy of my shift schedule under your door, so you know when I’ll be at work.”
“I know Charley’s schedule.”
“Right,” she said, extricating her hand from beneath his to put some distance between them by going over to the window. “I’ll go out on my days off. First thing until whenever you need to work… I could give you my cell number, you can just text me when you’re done and I’ll come back after.”
“This is supposed to be your place.” Looking away from the window, Poppy could see his own conflict written all over his face. “It’s supposed to be your home.” There was disgust in the way he scanned the room. “Damnit, I can provide for you better than this.”
“Turner,” she said, wearing a smile. “I love it here… I love this building, the apartment. It’s the first thing I’ve ever had… The first thing that’s ever been mine…”
“Is that what it was? You came here for freedom?”
Shrugging, she conceded. “You could say that.”
“Your parents want you to marry some Richie Rich?”
Her smile preceded a short laugh. “They wanted my sister to marry a Richie Rich.”
“She didn’t want to?”
“Oh, no, she did,” Poppy said, her eyes trailing to the side. “She definitely did.”
“So what was the problem?”
“I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”
“I’d believe anything you said.”
The sincerity of those words changed the ambience. If she’d thought the mood was charged before, she’d have been lowballing it. Poppy didn’t want him to feel any pain. She could feel it already. Could feel what it was to lose something. They’d never had a relationship, but the prospect, the potential of them, that had been lost and was heartbreaking in itself.
“We have to stay away from each other, Turner,” she murmured. He’d proved that he could control himself and that was admirable; Poppy didn’t have the same faith in herself. “What’s the alternative? Exposure therapy?”
“What’s that?” he asked, walking toward her. “We stay together twenty-four seven until it wears off?”
She laughed. “Maybe not twenty-four seven. I shower elsewhere, so I suppose that takes care of that problem, but I still have to change my clothes.”
His gaze slithered all over her. Poppy could feel him eating her up, consuming the possibilities his imagination was teasing both of them with.
“I might be able to live with that,” he said, laying a hand on the glazed terrace door behind her. “And you can shower at my place any time.”
“Weren’t we just talking about how this can’t happen?” she asked, unable to deny how intense it was to have him so close, leaning over her without their bodies actually making contact. “I’m the one who has problems restraining herself.” Like her body wanted to prove the point, it pushed her up to her tiptoes to balance precariously before