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“Do what?”
My cousin turns to face me, eyes boring into mine. “Fall for her,” he says carefully, taking the tumbler from my fist. “Because falling in love with Marcus Murphy’s daughter is nothing but bad news.”
Lorcan
I swallow my pride and knock.
“Come in.”
Poppy’s in her usual position, curled up on the window seat. Her expectant gaze darkens the second I creak open the door.
“I thought you were Orna,” she hisses. She clutches a pillow to her stomach and turns away from me.
I take three strides towards her and her scent hits me immediately. She must have just taken a shower or a bath. Her vanilla perfume and mix of whatever floral shit she smothers over her body and hair create an alluring cocktail that my dick instantly reacts to.
Fuck me, you could bottle this shit and trap a million men.
“I’m taking you to dinner.”
She scoffs. “Not a goddamn chance.”
The anger rises up to my chest, but I just about manage to keep it there. “You know that’s not a question,” I say evenly.
Only now does she turn to face me. “It should be. Because I’m not a dog you can bark at. If it’s not a question, then you won’t get an answer.”
A growl rumbles deep behind my rib cage. Poppy hears it and draws her eyes back to mine. “I’m not afraid of you,” she says simply. “Not anymore. I’ve already looked death in the eyes today. You were one green light away from putting a bullet in my head.”
I grab her by the waist, lifting her from the window seat with such ease that she lets out a gasp, and pull her against my body. My dick instantly stiffens at the warmth of her chest radiating against her thin T-shirt.
She feels like comfort.
Wrapping one arm around her hips, I cup her face with the other. “Look at me,” I say, biting back the urge to shout. Her wide eyes draw back up to mine and her lips part. Goddammit. I just want to crush my face against hers and claim her.
But I want her to want it too.
“I was never going to kill you, Poppy. I trusted that you were telling the truth. I’m…” the word is stuck in the back of my throat like a fucking fur ball. “Sorry.” It takes like poison and weakness, and I need a drink to wash it down. “Scaring you wasn’t my intention. Now, join me for dinner.”
“Ask me.” I raise an eyebrow. “Ask me to dinner, Lorcan. It should be a question, not a command.”
I draw in a deep breath and reset my jaw. “Will youpleasecome to dinner with me?” I bite.
Another “please” I have to choke out, but the way her face softens I know it was worth looking like a pussy for this moment.
“Fine,” she says, her tone lower this time. Am I imagining that her back muscles have relaxed against my forearm? That she’s pushing herself against me? “But I’m going like this. In my sweats.”
She makes a gesture towards her damp hair pulled back into a braid and her gray track pants, like her joining me for dinner in her loungewear is some kind of threat.
“I couldn’t give a flying fuck what you wear. Someone will collect you in fifteen minutes.”
Poppy
When the door locks behind Lorcan and I hear his heavy footsteps descending the stairs, I sprint into the bathroom and face myself in the mirror.
My act of defiance is joining him for dinner in an outfit that’s one step up from pajamas, but it doesn’t hurt to put a little bit of concealer over my puffy undereyes. And maybe I’ll dry my hair. Even run a little serum through it, perhaps.
I lock eyes with myself as I finger the false eyelashes in my new makeup bag.Get a goddamn grip,I say telepathically to my reflection.
There was a kidnapping case a few years ago that made the rounds in the news. Angie Baker, she was called. A girl around my age, walking home from her shift at a cafe when a van pulled up to the sidewalk and bundled her inside. I was obsessed for a little while because the fear of being kidnapped has always rightfully lingered over me. I watched every news segment, where stern-looking police officers would stand outside the station in front of a bunch of microphones and flashing cameras to appeal for witnesses. I remember her family sobbing on a talk show, staring down the camera lens, and begging their daughter to come home. I forgot about it entirely until six months later she reappeared as easily as she disappeared. She was healthy, a smile on her face as she waved to the press walking into the police station. She refused to give the name of her kidnapper, stating that he wasn’t a bad person.
