And doing,” I challenge. Then, I decide to kick off one of my heels to be sexy. I flip it off, but I use too much force, and it goes flying up in the air and smacks Xander square on the forehead.
“Ouch!” he cries, his hand going up to his head.
“Oh, no!” I cry. I leap off the desk and hurry over to him. He now has a gash on his forehead where my stiletto hit him, and he’s bleeding. “Oh, Xander, I’m sorry! Let me get a towel!”
“No, it’s all right, I’ll go get one,” Xander says.
I gasp as I see blood running down his forehead. “You’re really bleeding.”
He gives me a wry smile. “I’m a retired army captain, love. I’ve bled many times. And it’s a facial wound; they bleed a lot. I’ll be back.”
Xander heads out of the room. He’s gone for what seems like forever, and when he returns, he has a wet flannel pressed against his head.
I wince. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“Not mortally,” he says wryly. “But I will say that stiletto would make a bloody good weapon.”
I groan. “Oh, this is so not what I had in mind. As soon as I saw you tonight, I wanted to have mad, hot sex with you—not flailing cod sex like I had in the past, but hot sex. I thought I could seduce you, and you would take me on this desk. After you did the whole dramatic sweep the papers off with one hand bit, because that is very, very hot if you know what I’m saying, but now I’ve cut you with my shoe, and that’s not hot, and it’s all just … just … done. God, I’m tired.”
Xander simply stares at me. “Can we back up a moment? What on earth is flailing cod sex?”
“That is awful sex I had. With partner number two. His idea of sex was flailing around on me like a cod on the dock, all sweaty and slippery and just flopping on me. So bad. But then I had sex with you, and now it’s like the best thing ever, and I can’t get enough of it.”
His eyes flicker. “I do rather fancy your idea of sex on a desk, but I think that should wait until tomorrow night.”
I nod. “Right. You probably have a headache.”
Xander smiles. “Something like that. Why don’t we lie down on the sofa together?”
“This is disappointing, but okay, yes,” I say, carefully stepping out of my other shoe, so I don’t hurt Xander again.
Xander lies down, and I curl up next to him. Next, I feel a soft, cosy blanket being draped over me. Xander smooths his hand over my hair, and my body nearly goes limp from his touch.
“I feel tired now,” I murmur, as my eyelids are very heavy.
“It’s okay. You should sleep,” he whispers, brushing his lips against my head.
I’m quiet for a few moments. I’m about to drift off when I hear Xander speak one last time.
“Poppy?” he whispers.
I don’t reply. Too tired. I’ve talked too much. No more talking.
“I really do love you, too,” he says, his voice thick.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Flashes
Ouch.
My head hurts. I try to lift my eyelids open, as I can feel light hitting them, but they are so heavy. Scratchy, too. Like someone sandpapered the inside of my eyelids.
Finally, I manage to open my eyes. Sunlight washes the room, and I wince from the brightness of it, squinting as my eyes try to adjust. As they do, I find I’m in Xander’s bed.
I roll over. No Xander, but there is a card propped up on his pillow, one with the insignia for the Prince of Wales on it.
I reach for it, and as I do, I notice I’m still in my dress from last night. What the hell? Why am I still in my dress? Why do I not remember coming to bed?
And why is Xander leaving me a note?
Suddenly, it comes back to me. Apartment 1A. The plan for Bella. Drinking.
I gasp.
The drinking.
More images come into focus. How Xander kissed me up against a wall. Coming back to his place. Asking for sex on a desk. The stiletto stabbing him in the forehead.
And I told him I loved him.
Oh, no. I told him I loved him! How could I do that? How could I tell him that so soon? I knew my feelings were growing for him, and the gin gave my heart the courage to open up and embrace how I was feeling