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God, I’d been so close to kissing her. Not because I was in love with her or wanted some happily ever after with a girl who deserved someone better than me, but because it felt like I should. That the sex would somehow be better if I had.
And even without it, the sex was incredible.
With the morning light coating the room, I waited for a rush of shame, for an ounce of regret, and shockingly, I came up really fucking short on both of those. A slight headache was blooming at the base of my skull, and my mouth was dry, but even my hangover wasn’t that bad.
The truth was, I didn’t deserve any of these things. Poppy was so good, so innocent, she’d wanted the fairy tale of her parents’ marriage her entire life, and God, she deserved it. Who was I? Fucking no one who should be touching her, that’s for sure. My arm tightened where it was anchored around her back, and I inhaled her shampoo again.
I wasn’t good. I definitely wasn’t innocent. The times in my life when I’d gone home with someone, gone to a hotel,full well knowing I’d never see them again was more than I could count. Fewer, maybe, than a lot of people assumed, but still a lot. It wasn’t like I’d never slept with someone more than once because I had. But there were lines I’d never crossed.
No kissing.
No one married or engaged.
And no one in my bed.
Only once. Just her.
Gorgeous and naked and probably the best sex I’d ever had in my life. The kind you wanted more of. The kind you thought about when you were alone and couldn’t have it—a pale memory and my own hand would never give me that same high.
Was it better because I knew it was wrong? Was it hotter because I knew that I shouldn’t be tearing off her underwear and letting her ride my fingers, all that tight, hot perfection clenching around me in a way that had me losing my fucking mind?
“Fuck,” I whispered, bringing my free hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose.
Maybe I had lost my mind.
Insanity by Poppy Wilder’s perfectly tight?—
I stopped myself short, jaw tight with sudden tension, because she wasn’t perfect. No one was. Calling her angel in my head had always been a mistake because it built her up to something untouchable and unfair.
One night didn’t erase anything. Not for me.
I gave her one last look, studying the peaceful way she slept, half on top of me, and then gently eased my arm from around her. Instead of waking, Poppy curled up on her side when I moved out from under her, turning her face into the pillow while her breathing evened out again.
I exhaled quietly, carefully pulling the blanket up to cover her delectable, bare body. Once all that flawless skin was out of sight, my head felt clearer, and I went into the kitchen todrink some water and start a pot of coffee. While that was brewing, I checked the weather forecast and stared out the kitchen window, a rolling barrage of memories from the night before weighing my chest down.
Not because the memories weren’t good.
They were too good.
If noticing Poppy had me leaving town to clear my head, then what the fuck was I supposed to do with this? My hands tingled, and my throat felt tight as signs of anxiety crawled up over my body.
Get out.
Clear your head.
It was always the same. A glimpse of her big brown eyes. A flash of her smile sent off a pang of … something … deep in my chest.
Don’t name it.
Don’t feel it.
I drummed my fingers on the counter and took a few deep breaths, feeling like I’d lost an anchor somehow. Lost the thing grounding me for so many years. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I thought about what felt best when direction and clarity were in short supply.
Fresh air. New sights. And a challenge to exhaust me to my core.
The one trip I’d hesitated making pushed up through last night’s memories.It was too long, I thought. Even though he’d never done it before because of how well he understood me and my situation, Cameron might push back on this one.
I just might have to push back.
