Take My Breath Away

by Christie Ridgway

  “I...I showed a remarkable lack of judgment hooking up with her. Suzee Wad—”

  “Shows a remarkable lack of judgment choosing to go by that name.”

  He shook his head, trying to understand her reaction. “The sex tape is why the paparazzi are so rabid, Poppy. I didn’t come clean with you about that.”

  “Because it makes you feel dirty.”

  “And stupid.” And sad, so sad, that he’d allowed Poppy to brush up against it. To brush up against him. “I’m sorry.”

  Then, to his astonishment, she turned on the couch and started crawling toward him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She kept advancing, even when he reared back. “I’m returning to where we were before we were so unpleasantly interrupted.” Now Poppy was in his lap, looping her arms around his neck. She pitched her voice toward the closed door. “Good night, Charlie. Good night, Linus.”

  “What—”

  “We missed that part. Now let’s get to this part,” she said, and kissed him.

  His hands closed over her shoulders and he thrust her away. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  She tilted her head and the ends of her braid tickled the back of his right hand. “About the video?”

  Maybe he was baffled because he could never think straight with his arms full of this pretty woman. “Yes.”

  “Well...only that I’ve known you to do much better work than what was caught on that tape.” She brushed at his hair. “So I’d suggest you start rehabilitating your rep.”

  He stared at her. Then, laughing, he caught her hands in his. “God, Poppy.” With his lips, he touched her forehead, the tip of her nose, the round apple of each cheek. “God, Poppy.”

  Drawing her close, he buried his head against her neck. “If I wasn’t me, I think I could fall in love with you.”

  * * *

  IF I WASN’T ME, I think I could fall in love with you.

  They were just words, Poppy thought, running a gentle hand over Ryan’s hair. A meaningless expression of gratitude. He’d expected recriminations about that ridiculous video because clearly he’d been beating himself up about it all year. But the only anger she felt was for the woman who’d taken such advantage of him.

  Ryan’s mouth pressed another kiss on her, a gentle buss to the side of her throat. Still, she shivered, the slight abrasion of his evening whiskers teasing her sensitive skin. His tongue chased the chills spreading over it. “I love the way you taste,” he said.

  Love.

  She squeezed shut her eyes, rejecting the word. Then Ryan kissed her again, lips-to-lips, and she opened for him, welcoming the carnality of a hot, deep kiss. She could lose herself in their physical connection. Be carried away from dangerous thoughts by the clamoring want of her body for him. His hands were at the hem of the sweater and she lifted her arms to allow him to draw it off her.

  Her bra was tossed away next.

  Reflexive modesty had her crossing her arms over her breasts, but Ryan grasped her wrists and held them away, baring her to his gaze. She shivered again.

  “Let me warm things up,” he said, slipping from beneath her.

  She watched him cross to the fireplace. In seconds, the flames were leaping higher. With his gaze on her, Ryan reached behind him with one hand to yank his T-shirt over his head. Her breath caught as she took in the heavy set of his shoulders, the rise of his pectoral muscles, the rippled contours of his belly. His blue eyes were as hot as the center of the fire.

  Anticipation made her breathless and she squeezed her thighs together, the juncture of her legs already feeling swollen and soft. Ryan settled in the opposite corner of the couch, then beckoned her to him. “Come here,” he whispered, more heat in his smile.

  Her nipples furled into hard points and her breasts swelled, too, every inch of her skin preparing for his touch. When she crawled toward him this time, he welcomed her into his arms, bending his head to take a firm tip between his lips. She cried out, cradling his head as he sucked. His mouth was molten, the suction bliss. When he moved to her other breast, his fingers toyed with the flesh he’d dampened.

  Poppy wiggled in his hold, unable to keep still, and his hips lifted, his erection a delicious pressure against her bottom. His fingertips slid under the waistband of her pants and her belly hollowed, allowing his hand deeper access.

  They both groaned when one long finger found the first wetness waiting there. He pulled free and before she could whimper he had her pants at her knees. His hand was hot as it brushed her calves to push them away. And maybe she should feel silly in only her scrap of panties and a pair of socks, but the way he looked at her made her feel as desirable as any tackily dressed porn princess.

  As if he moved through water, he took his time stripping away her wool socks. Then he hooked his forefinger on one side of her underwear and he drew them down, down, down.

  Poppy was naked, the denim of Ryan’s jeans just slightly rough against the soft skin of her derriere. He ran his palm over her flesh, cupping the curve of her shoulder, following the slope of her breast, testing the resiliency of her thigh. His fingers tickled the underside of her knee and burning shivers flared from his touch to the soles of her feet and to the top of her head.

  She closed her eyes, reveling in the feeling. Then something cool and fragrant passed over her skin. Her lashes lifted and she saw he’d plucked a handful of the freesia blossoms and now was stroking their scent into her skin. The peppery sweetness of it rose around them and she felt bathed in Ryan’s touch...and in spring.

  He kneeled beside the couch and stretched her out on the cushions. More blossoms caressed her skin: the under-curve of her breasts, the bend of her elbow, the tender inner surfaces of her thighs. He pressed his lips to her belly and breathed her in. “I love this scent.”

  Love.

  To get away from the word, Poppy scrambled up.

  “Wha—” Ryan began, but she smothered the word with a kiss of her own. He groaned into it, accepting the stroke of her tongue and clutching at her with hard hands.

  Taking them, she drew him to a stand and then her mouth was busy exploring his hard chest. She ran her teeth along the bulge of his biceps, she traced the lines of his ribs with her tongue, she sank to her knees so she could rub her cheek against the hard column of him beneath his jeans. Rather than worrying about her inexperience, she just went with what her body wanted.

  A relative novice could do a lot with enthusiasm, she decided.

  “Poppy,” he said, his fingers tangling in her hair, sifting through it so it was loose around her shoulders.

  Looking up, she shook it back as she worked at his snap and zipper. His eyes were wizard-bright again, and a wild shiver ran across her body as she freed him from his clothes. Then she reached for him with her tongue, brushing the soft crest of his erection with the lightest flick. His fingers curled, the tug on her scalp just more pleasure.

  There were crushed freesia blossoms scattered about and she scooped some into her palm and then stroked his hard shaft, pressing the bruised petals to his hot, satin skin. He groaned again, and she let the flowers fall once more so she could take him into her mouth.

  The taste was both fresh and spicy, both salty and sweet. Like she was catching water, she cupped him from below, rubbing her thumbs across the twin sacs as she continued to draw him in and then let him slide out, her tongue circling his flesh. She edged forward, her nipples making contact with his muscled thighs. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure the drumbeat was loud enough to drive away the last vestiges of winter, the destructive greedy grief, any words that shouldn’t be spoken.

  His magnificent eyes continued to watch her, compel her, and she had the desperate satisfaction of knowing that though he’d be gone soon, now, in this moment, she filled his vision. She rolled her tongue over th
e sensitive head of him, and with an oath, he broke.

  Next thing she knew, he was lying on the couch, wearing nothing more than a condom, and he was drawing her over him...the position of him and that nasty piece of woman who’d been on the sex video. But it was nothing like that movie.

  His hands were warm on her hips. Not rough, but urgent, and so careful as he drew her down. She sank onto him by degrees, each millimeter ratcheting the desire. Ryan groaned, low and soft.

  “I love the way you take me in,” he said.

  Poppy shuddered as he entered, and then knowledge fell like a soft spring rain, gentle enough not to damage frail blossoms but with enough power to reach her heart. To change it, irrevocably. And I love you, she thought, as the climax began to build, making her tremble in his arms.

  I’m in love with you.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  HEAD MUZZY FROM lack of sleep, Poppy headed straight for the coffeemaker. As she poured, for the first time she noticed Charlie sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, her hands cradling her own mug. With coffee in hand, Poppy gave her cousin the best good-morning smile she had available.

  It must have been pretty lousy, because Charlie’s eyebrows rose. “You look wiped out. Are you all right?”

  Avoiding the question, Poppy sipped at the dark brew. “No need to ask you that.” Charlie’s glowing face was the only evidence necessary to conclude the younger woman had enjoyed her overnight with Linus.

  A grin drew up the corners of her mouth. “I didn’t know I could be this happy.”

  “I’m thrilled for you,” Poppy replied, meaning it to the marrow. “Linus is great.”

  “And what about his brother and you?” Charlie asked.

  Mason skipped into the room, paper and pens in hand. Sending her cousin a significant look, she tipped her head toward her son. “Morning, buddy. Cereal okay?”

  “I want the kind Duke eats,” Mason said, climbing up onto a stool beside Charlie’s. “The sugar one.”

  “The sugar one is bad,” Poppy said, crossing to pull a bowl from a cupboard.

  Mason’s brows pinched together. “Duke wouldn’t do anything bad.”

  Little do you know, darling boy. Duke did a very bad thing to Mommy. He made her fall in love with him. Poppy slid the bowl and a spoon in front of her son. “Oat flakes or rice puffies?”

  Her son was focused on another of the many “maps” he’d made of the lake house and surrounding estate. “The kind Duke eats,” he repeated, making a careful red X in what looked to be a stand of trees.

  “Oat flakes or rice puffies?” she said again, putting a stern note into her voice.

  Mason looked up, his lower lips signaling imminent mutiny. “Mom—”

  “For goodness sake, let the kid have the cereal he wants,” Charlie insisted, sliding from the stool and moving toward the pantry.

  “I love Charlie,” Mason said, beaming her an angelic grin.

  “Love you, too, boyo,” her cousin called over her shoulder.

  Poppy crossed her arms over her chest. “Easy for you to say. You won’t be dealing with the midmorning sugar crash.”

  The long-legged blonde came back with the cereal box and proceeded to pour the equivalent of nineteen candy bars into Mason’s bowl. “I can be. You look as if you could use a breather. Why don’t you let Linus and me take him for the day? Would you like that, Mace? We can find fun things to do. Try out that pool I’ve heard about. Maybe have ice-cream sundaes for lunch.”

  “Yay!” Mason raised his arms, clasping his fists overhead like a champion.

  “Oh, great,” Poppy said. “More sugar.”

  “You let me worry about that.” Charlie lowered her voice. “Call Shay. I hear she has access to a boat. Get her to spring you from the estate.”

  Poppy hesitated. It was true, leaving via the lake would keep her out of the paparazzi’s sight. “But...”

  “Do it,” Charlie said. “Take a man-break.”

  The concept was much too tempting to pass up.

  Maybe a man-break would give her the time and opportunity necessary for an emotional rewind, Poppy thought an hour later, waiting on the dock for her sister to arrive. Last night, she’d snuck away from Ryan, slipping between the sheets in her bed, where she’d lain awake until morning, lamenting her own knuckleheadedness while examining and reexamining how she’d managed to turn her heart over to him.

  That he couldn’t reciprocate was supposed to have protected her!

  But watching him have sex with another woman had changed all that, which, when she thought of it, was extremely messed up. If Mac knew she’d be shaking her head and once again pointing out Poppy’s terrible track record when it came to men...

  Though it wasn’t that stupid sex tape. It was his hands, she decided. Covering a sleeping Mason with a towel. Bandaging a wounded Mason with such confidence. Cupping Poppy’s shoulders while he whispered in her ear, Nothing that you bake can assuage this particular appetite. Then last night, the tight grip of his long fingers as he tried to push her away, yet only managed to hang on tight. Those moments had brought her to the tipping point.

  To when she’d surprised a short, startled laugh from him because she hadn’t condemned him for last March’s futile effort to cope with his son’s loss. If I wasn’t me, I think I’d fall in love with you.

  As Shay eased toward the dock in her employer’s boat, Poppy rushed to meet her. With luck, a man-break would permanently fracture her fascination with the dark-haired, blue-eyed flatlander who’d come to mean too much.

  But trading one lakeside estate for another wasn’t a cure-all. While her sister and her charge—for today, she wanted to be known as Winooski—carried on with the youngster’s studies, Poppy was left on her own. She read a book, perused a magazine, borrowed Shay’s headphones to listen to music. Lunch was a shared affair with the other two, and afterward Poppy dipped into yet another book.

  In late afternoon, she let herself out of the house to wander the grounds. She made patterns with pinecones, she tossed rocks into the lake, she admired the flower beds that showcased yellow daffodils, white and pink tulips, purple hyacinths and...freesias.

  She had to get away from them.

  Pulling her sweatshirt hood over her head, she let herself out a side gate. Winooski’s house was located on a narrow, winding lane that was bisected by long driveways leading to other mansions. Flowers brightened the front gardens, but there weren’t any other signs of life. Midweek in the low season likely meant most people were spending time in their primary homes down the hill.

  Swinging her arms, Poppy set out on a brisk walk. The air tasted fresh and she breathed in great gulps of it. Dappled sunlight fell over her, filtered by pines and oaks. Squirrels chattered as she strode by, zipping up tree trunks so fast they startled blue jays from the branches. After fifteen minutes, she was too warm for fleece and stripped off her sweatshirt. Dreaming of a cold drink, she turned back, suffering another scolding from the bushy-tailed rodents. With the house just a few yards away, she glanced down to adjust the knotted sleeves at her waist when the sudden skitter of a pinecone across asphalt came out of nowhere.

  Her gaze jumped up, landing on a man lurking in the shadow created by the massive cedar located beside the entrance to Winooski’s drive. Poppy moved back, instincts on alert. Then the man stepped into fuller light. It took her a moment to recognize him. His hair was darker, his face bonier, his smile just that much falser.

  Trying to hide her dismay, she nodded at him. “What are you doing here, Denny?”

  “Poppy.” He strolled forward. “I had no idea I’d run into you.”

  “Then why are you here?” His family’s place wasn’t situated at this end of the lake. As a matter of fact, she had no idea if they still owned it or even if they visited Blue Arrow anymore.r />
  He shrugged. “Heard through the grapevine your sister was working at this address. I thought I could make my case to her. Have her put in a good word for me.”

  “Don’t bother Shay anymore.”

  “I don’t need to,” Denny said. “Now that we’re face-to-face.” He glanced around. “The kid with you?”

  “No.” The air took on a new chill and she unknotted her sweatshirt and shrugged back into it. She wasn’t any warmer. “I haven’t come to a decision yet about you spending time with him.”

  “Well, what’s it going to take?” he asked, his voice annoyed. “I’m the kid’s father, right?”

  “The kid’s name is Mason.”

  Denny waved that away. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I want to see him.”

  “Why?”

  He hesitated and she knew he was trying to come up with the best way to sway her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she pinned him with her stare. “Don’t bullshit me. What’s going on?”

  “My mother,” he finally said. “She’d like to know her grandson.”

  He said it too fast. “I have a hard time believing that,” Poppy replied. “I’ve sent her photos every year and she’s never bothered to contact me.”

  “My mother should want to see her grandson.”

  On that they could agree, she thought, but this whole scenario, now that she was looking him in the eye, wasn’t ringing true. “Denny—”

  “Okay, fine. I need money.”

  She raised her brows. “Your job at the family firm...”

  “I was let go.” His gaze shifted away from her. “My parents don’t understand.”

  So he wanted to use Mason to...what? Well, hell, no, to whatever he was scheming. “I don’t see how bringing my son into this situation changes anything for you.”

  “My mother might fall for the kid. Soften up, you know? Does he look like me?”

  “He looks like himself.” She didn’t bother mentioning that she’d sent Denny photos every year, too. It had seemed the right thing to do, but no longer. Poppy edged toward the path that would bring her to the front door. “I think we should leave things as they are.”