* * *
TRACE HAD MEANT the remark as a jest. Incentive to forget the tumultuous pressure of the past five days and return to their usual horsing around. But the reminder of an eventual departure had set the time clock that always surrounded their reunions running.
“All right, Lieutenant,” she said.
Sashaying forward, she turned, giving him a 360-degree view of the dress peeled down to the waist. Facing him, she continued her striptease.
Not wanting it to be over too soon, Trace goaded. “No music?”
Poppy stopped. Rolled her eyes. Sauntered over to the CD player on her bureau and pushed Play without even looking. The strains of the “Hallelujah Chorus” burst forth, prompting them both to burst into gales of laughter.
“Good choice,” Trace said, getting immediately to his feet.
“What are you doing?” Poppy asked.
“Isn’t it customary to stand for the finale of Handel’s Messiah?”
She knew full well, as did he, that it was.
But it wasn’t the rousing sounds of the traditional oratorio that had his heart pumping. Or hers, either, he guessed. Today it was all them...
But not wanting her to know—just yet anyway—how wickedly excited he was, lest he ruin the mounting anticipation for her, too, he waited for her to make the next move.
Her sable brown eyes lit with a lively, impetuous light. Inhaling deeply, eyes locked with his, she stepped out of her dress and then the petticoat. Then slowly, erotically, moved toward him in nothing but the bustier, garter belt and thigh-high stockings, and the tiniest bikini panties he had ever seen.
When she was just out of reach, she stopped.
It was all he could do not to groan in frustration, as she began taking the pins from her hair, until it, too, spilled over her shoulders in a tumble of dark, silky-brown curls.
Unable to hold back, he breathed, “You are so damn beautiful.”
The adrenaline rush of Handel playing in the background, Poppy sashayed closer still. “Mmm-hmm.” She tilted her face up to his mischievously. “Your turn.” Her eyes drifted over him appreciatively. “Lieutenant...”
Aware he was already way too aroused to hold back for long, he warned, “Poppy...”
She stepped away and tilted her head tauntingly. “Unless you don’t dare?”
Oh, he dared, all right.
Still appreciating the view, he tugged his T-shirt over his head. Spun around, just as she had.
Her soft laughter filled the room.
Hands spread on either side of him, miming a model showing off the garments, he let her look her fill, then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and pushed them down.
Instead of the white military-issue briefs he knew she was expecting, he was wearing a pair of black silk boxers with red hearts all over them.
Chuckling merrily, she let her gaze drift lower, to the outline of his male anatomy pushing against the silk.
No hiding his desire now.
“Nice,” she said softly as the first song ended and “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” began.
Unable to wait a second longer, sensing she wasn’t either, Trace prowled toward her. “Not as nice as you,” he said, running his thumbs over the crests of her breasts pushing against the sheer fabric.
Her arms came up to wrap around his neck.
Rising on tiptoe, she moved all the way into his arms. Then, pressing her body flush against his, she threaded her hands through his hair, all the tenderness he had ever wanted to see shimmering in her misty brown eyes. “Now, you see? This is why you always end up seducing me.” She kissed him soulfully.
“Really?” Cupping her face in both hands, he returned her kiss with every ounce of pent-up passion that he had. Feeling her shudder, he took her by the hand and led her over to stand next to the bed. Satisfaction roared through him. “Because all this time, I thought it was you seducing me.”
She watched as he unlaced the front of her bustier and the luscious mounds of her breasts fell free. “You know it’s mutual.”
Relishing the sight of her partially dressed as much as completely undressed, he turned his attention to the convenient little bows on either side of her bikini panties. A tug of each and those, too, slid right off.
Her eyes darkened. “You’re going to ravish me, aren’t you?”
Still kissing her, determined to give her all the pleasure she deserved, he backed her playfully to the wall. His palms and fingertips made a leisurely tour of her body. “Oh, yeah...”
With a soft sigh of acquiescence, she lifted her arms to his shoulders. Trembled when he found the sensitive place between her thighs. Desire shot through him. He loved the way she responded to him, the way she insisted, even now, on giving back, by sifting her palms over her shoulders, down his spine, to cup and mold his buttocks.
He moved his mouth to her breasts, nibbling and suckling, making sure there was nothing he missed. Her nipples pebbled all the more, her eyes widened in excitement, and the satin of her skin grew as hot as the fire burning inside him.
Damn. But he loved her like this. All soft and womanly. Rocking against him, so reckless and open to everything...
He rose and took her mouth again, determined not to let it go by too fast, yet able to tell from the quickening meter of her breath she needed more, too, just as he did. Wedging his knee between her legs, he spread them wide and brought his leg up, so she could ride his thigh. She moaned and melted into his body, rubbing, seeking, finding, her tongue tangling with his, until he was as lost in their embrace as she was. Her breath caught even more as he stroked her, finding her center, the wet, velvety heat.
“Trace?” She kissed him again.
He kissed her back, still stroking and touching, making her his. Quivering, her hands found the waistband of his boxers, slid inside to cup him. She whispered, “I don’t think I can wait...”
Another thing he loved about her.
She was okay with living in the moment. And then finding another. And another...
Grinning, he peeled off his boxers. She climbed his body and still resting against the wall, wrapped her legs around his waist. One clever move on her part, and he was inside. Overcome with the feel of her slick, wet heat, he pushed even deeper. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, darlin’.”
He moaned as she clamped even tighter around him, bringing him home...
“Exactly what I thought when you first undressed me. And yet...” She pressed her mouth to his, kissing him softly, erotically, finding the same easy timeless rhythm of penetration and withdrawal. She sighed wantonly. “Here we are...”
“Together again,” he rasped, letting her call all the shots the first time they made love during a reunion, the way he always did. Being each other’s soft place to fall...
* * *
TWO ADDITIONAL BOUTS of hot lovemaking and a short nap later, Poppy and Trace finally showered and headed to her kitchen for a long-delayed first meal of the day
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Trace asked.
Glad things were finally returning to normal between them—meaning not too serious or intense—Poppy took out the coffee. “Well, I was going to make a new wreath for the front door. Then, I have to run over to the office-supply and craft stores to buy supplies for the Holiday Cards for Soldiers project at the elementary school later this week.”
He lounged against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest “That’s right. You help out with that every year, don’t you?”
Wondering if she would ever get tired of admiring his taut, hard body—never mind the things it could do for her!—she shrugged. “The whole school does. It’s a way to show our military how much we appreciate all they do for us.”
“Want help with it?”
>
“Actually, I bet they’d like you to speak to a class or two, too. Tell them about your job.”
His mouth quirked. “I think I could do that.”
“Great!” Poppy grinned as their eyes met. “I’ll let the teachers know. Then...” Sobering, she took a deep breath, not sure how he would feel about it, never mind the timing, since he hadn’t even been back a full day. “I had planned to go to Fort Worth to visit with Anne Marie this evening. I wanted to let her know that we were married and to thank her for having so much faith in us.”
He moved so she could get into the cupboard behind him. “Want company?”
Did she ever.
Poppy’s thigh brushed his as she reached for the filters. “I’m sure she’d be thrilled to see you.” She stumbled slightly and Trace put a hand beneath her elbow to steady her.
“The only thing is...I was planning to spend the night in a hotel there, rather than drive the two and a half hours back tonight.” She felt oddly clumsy. Almost a little dizzy.
Must be the accumulated fatigue.
He slid her a look. “Do you have a hotel reservation?”
Poppy put the paper filter in the basket. “Yes.”
He watched her grind the beans. “Am I going to need my own room or can I bunk with you?” he asked as the aroma of fresh-ground coffee filled her kitchen.
In the past they had done it both ways, although they usually ended up spending most of their time together, anyway. Aware of his eyes upon her, Poppy added water and hit Brew. “I suppose we could share,” she said dryly, “in the interest of economy and all.”
And the fact that given a choice, I’d like nothing more than to spend another night making wild, passionate love with you and then sleep snuggled up together.
He nodded. “What time did you want to leave?”
Poppy got out the orange juice. “I said I would be there around seven, so...maybe three-thirty.”
“Sounds good.”
A feeling of peace descended between them. And something else a lot deeper and harder to identify.
“So...back to the wreath,” he continued affably as she busied herself pouring them each a glass of juice. “Do you want any help making that?”
* * *
SAY WHAT? “I THOUGHT the only thing you ever did for your mom’s florist business was deliver orders!” As the mood between them began to lighten, she pushed on. “That she wouldn’t let you near the creative side because you were all thumbs.”
“True enough.” He grinned at her playful needling then winked. “Maybe on purpose...”
“Ah. The old male trick of trying to get out of something through demonstrated incompetence?”
He rubbed the flat of his hand across his stubbled jaw. “Not that you would ever do the same thing.”
Poppy called on her inner Texas belle. Flattening a hand across her throat, she drawled, “Why, whatever are you talking about?”
His brow raised at her thick Southern accent. Still laughing, he said, “I seem to remember a flat tire or two...”
“Okay.” She flushed as his eyes surveyed her lazily, head to toe. “So I might have feigned feminine incompetence when we were in college, to avoid getting my clothes smudged with tire yuck.” A perfectly understandable ploy, in her view.
He put his glass aside and moved toward her. “And I might have enjoyed coming to your rescue.”
“That’s right.” Poppy gazed down at their suddenly linked hands. “The first time we ever made love was after you rescued me and came back to my apartment to shower and get cleaned up.”
He kissed her knuckles. “And we ended up in bed instead.”
Tenderness flowed between them. “Amazing, how long ago that was.” Poppy sighed contentedly.
“How long we’ve been together.”
And she knew it was all because they had never been foolish enough to put restraints on each other, and what they each wanted out of life. Or to do anything really crazy like, say, get married.
Only now they had.
Would that change anything?
And what would happen to their long-standing friendship slash love affair if it did?
Trace noticed the shift in her mood. He asked lightly as she moved away, “Was it something I said?”
A joke. Yet not a joke. Poppy turned the oven to preheat it. “No.”
“Then what’s bringing you down?”
Poppy wished she knew why her moods were so mercurial these days. It was like being on a roller coaster. Over the moon one minute, incredibly sad and weepy the next...
She brought out the bacon and began layering it in the bottom of a cast-iron skillet. “Is that another way of saying I’ve been frowning too much?”
“Looking near tears.”
Poppy retrieved the package of ready-to-bake buttermilk biscuits from her freezer. “I know I’ve been emotional lately.” What she couldn’t say—maybe didn’t really want to know—was why.
She got out the eggs.
Seeing the coffee was finished, Trace reached for two mugs. Poppy put up a staying hand. “Maybe later.”
He settled against the counter, aromatic beverage in hand. “Is it because you’re finally about to adopt twin babies?” He paused. “Or because of what happened years ago?”
Poppy should have known he would bring that up. He always did, whenever he was worried about her, in this sense.
And maybe, she thought ruefully, he had a right to be.
Glad she had him to talk with, Poppy released a weary sigh. “I admit I feel a little jinxed when it comes to me ever having a family.”
“Because of the baby we lost?”
God. How was it possible it could still hurt so much? After fourteen years?
Swallowing a lump in her throat, she concentrated on her task. “I know I was barely through the third month.” She broke eggs into a bowl and tossed the shells into the sink. “But I really thought I would carry that baby to term. And I would have, had it not been an ectopic pregnancy.”
“Instead, you lost the child and the tube and ovary.”
That had left her with two-thirds of a working reproductive system. And roughly half the ability to even get pregnant.
“Even after all that, you know, when I had finally gotten past it and we decided to actively try to conceive, I had hoped it would happen. That we’d be successful.” Have the perfect baby that was half me and half you.
“Only it never did.”
“So, can you blame me for being a little worried something might happen?” She hitched in a breath. “Again?”
Trace took her in his arms. “First of all, I don’t think it will. I think you’re finally going to get everything you want. Even if it is via adoption instead of pregnancy.”
You’re...going to get what you want...
He wasn’t talking about himself. Or them, Poppy thought sadly. Just her. But why should that even surprise her? she asked herself. Up until the past few years anyway, it had always been just her thing. Trace had merely been a willing participant and a good friend. A guy who was willing to be “The Dad” in the equation whenever he came home on leave. And how often was that? At most, once or twice a year?
He studied her expression, remorse tautening the ruggedly handsome features on his face, misunderstanding the reason behind her malaise. “But even if something does go wrong with this adoption—”
She pressed her finger to his lips. “Don’t say that,” she whispered.
He kissed the back of her hand gently. “I’ll be right there with you, to make sure you get the family you deserve to have.” This time it was his voice that sounded a little rusty. “It’s the least I can do.”
Guilt. Again.
Poppy’s spine turned as rigid as her hear
t. “You’re not responsible for what happened, Trace.”
“Come on, Poppy.” He stepped aside as she grabbed a whisk and the mixing bowl. “We both know if I hadn’t gotten careless, you never would have become pregnant, never would have lost the baby, and a good portion of your fertility, to boot.”
She whisked the eggs with a vengeance. “I could have had an ectopic pregnancy anytime. I could still have one in my remaining fallopian tube, if I ever did get pregnant, which we both know now is unlikely to ever happen.”
He grasped her wrist and put the bowl aside. “The point is, darlin’, I’m here for you. I always have been. And I always will be. The same way you’re here for me.”
Warning herself to calm down, she took a deep, enervating breath. “As friends.”
“And lovers.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “And now, husband and wife.”
Poppy mugged comically at the wry note of humor in his low tone. “Can you believe it?” She held out her left hand, examining the plain gold wedding band. Then she looked at his hand, which did not contain a ring because she hadn’t expected him to actually be at the ceremony. “Because I still can’t!”
He shrugged affably, still looking as though he wanted to do nothing more than sweep her up into his arms, carry her up the stairs and make love to her again. “The notion’s beginning to grow on me,” he admitted gruffly. “Especially since it means we can now make love wherever, whenever, without suffering any raised brows. Or, in your case, parental concern.”
Yes, Poppy thought, wincing slightly, there had been that.
Her parents were big on tradition. Marriage. Grandchildren. Forever love.
Trace paused as his cell phone began to buzz. “And speaking of parents...” He grimaced. “My dad is calling.” With a sigh of resignation, he answered the phone, listened and then said, “Where are you?”
More talk, mostly on the other end.
Trace covered the phone. “Dad’s got a gift for us. Mind if he comes over to drop it by? Or would you prefer I meet him somewhere downtown?”
Not an unexpected question, given the crusty, oft-highly-irascible nature of his rancher father.
Lone Star Twins Page 5
