hair was slicked back and wet, and drops of water glistened on a body made for all those things she was remembering. No man should look as good as him, but that didn’t stop her from drinking him in like a tall glass of water or wine, or hell, something stronger. Give her some damn whiskey. Jesus, it wasn’t fair.
“I feel like maybe we need a conversation,” he said after a few moments when it was obvious she wasn’t going to say anything. It was then she noticed two cans of beer in his hands, one of which he offered to her.
This was it. Crunch time. She either pulled up her big-girl pants and dealt with this very hot ghost from the past, one she’d never quite let go of, or she didn’t. And that would be very un-adultlike.
As it turned out, Boone didn’t give her much of a chance to decide either way. He took the last few steps and sat beside her, then leaned back once she accepted the cold brew. Poppy took a long sip and stared out across the lake. A boat zipped across the horizon, heading out to one of the smaller islands that dotted the body of water, and she kept her gaze focused on that—anything to keep from looking at the man beside her.
And Boone Avery was very much a man. No longer was he the eighteen-year-old from all those years ago. He was big and built, and he’d grown into those broad shoulders. How could she still want him so badly?
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, voice low and way too intimate for her fragile nerves.
Don’t do it.
She exhaled and stared straight ahead, as tense as a soldier at arms.
Boone leaned forward, cutting off her view of the lake and forcing her to look at him. Her heart ramped up, and her arms and legs felt like noodles. He reached for her, and the world fell away. When he removed her sunglasses, she froze, unable to breathe or think or do anything that a rational, well-adjusted adult would do.
She simply stared at up at him and hoped like hell his superpowers had faded and he couldn’t see into her soul.
“Your bruise is getting better,” he murmured.
“I’m thinking about that night at the Bookers’ cottage.” She blurted the words before she could stop herself. Holy hell, she’d just lost her mind. She slammed her eyes closed and wished with all her heart she could melt into the dock and disappear beneath the water.
She felt his warm breath on her cheek and held her breath when he spoke.
“Funny thing is, so am I.” A heartbeat passed. “What are we going to do about it?”
Chapter Eight
Boone watched Poppy closely. Her eyes were still shut, so he was able to take a look without daggers being shot back at him. The pulse at the base of her neck beat rapidly, and her cheeks were flushed a soft pink. Her long hair was a wild mess of waves that fell around her shoulders and back, and the bikini she wore didn’t do much to clamp down his overactive libido. He hadn’t been this worked up over a woman in a long, long time, and if his Spidey sense was accurate, she wanted him too. It seemed the fire they started all those years ago still burned for both of them. And while he was used to getting what he wanted, he knew Poppy was going to make him work for it.
He’d hurt her. He got it. But he badly wanted to make things right.
“Poppy?” he asked hesitantly.
“Give me a minute.” Her voice was sharp. He leaned back, giving her the space and time she wanted. He looked out over the lake because he needed to focus on something other than the woman beside him. He’d always had a way with the opposite sex. A born charmer, his mother had said. But with Poppy, it felt like one false move would send her running for the hills faster than Usain Bolt, and he sure as hell didn’t want that.
“Why now?” she asked slowly. He turned and found her gaze on him, and damned if his blood didn’t boil over. “What do you want?”
He could think of a lot of things he wanted. Poppy naked and out of that bikini being one of them.
“To make things right,” he admitted, realizing it was, first and foremost, the one thing he needed to do.
Her eyes slid from his, and she