Page 4 of Play Dirty

Gripping the dead man beneath the shoulders, Jack dragged him from the shack and hid the body in the heavy foliage that grew close to the building. Once he finished, he rushed back to Poppy.

There, in the middle of that dirty floor, she’d managed to straighten her knee-length blue summer skirt. Her panties lay to the side, shredded, and Poppy was shuddering with anger. Not fear, but pure feminine anger.

Though it wouldn’t take the fear long to arrive.

“Poppy.” Sliding to his knees beside her, he touched her face, stared into her brilliant green eyes. “Honey…”

God, what could he say? There were no tears, but fury and horror filled her emerald eyes and her body was shaking like a leaf in a storm.

“Jack.” Pulling back, she stared down at her hands as though they weren’t her own before lifting her gaze to him once again. “I felt him… I felt him… He was going inside me, Jack. I had to…”

“It’s okay, baby.” He pulled her to him, rocking her, feeling an unfamiliar dampness in his eyes. “You stopped him before he could do more than just try. I swear, you stopped him… All he did was try. That was all you felt…”

He rocked her. Sitting on the floor, he drew her across his lap, held her, stroked her hair, kissed her forehead, and did something he’d never done in his life. He soothed another person.

His Poppy.

“He was going to make me do it,” she ground out, that anger still reflecting in her voice as her head rested on his shoulder. “I told him I’d kill him, Jack.”

She looked up at him, her ashen face drawn into determined lines even as she shuddered in his embrace.

There was no remorse in her. She’d just killed the man who had assaulted her, but she wasn’t crying or hysterical. Shock had stolen the color from her face, and there was a noticeable tremor racing through her, but she was sitting in his hold, fists clenched now as she fought the continued anger.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered, touching her cheek with the tips of two fingers. “You did what you had to do.”

“Do you hate me, Jack?” she whispered then, her voice trembling, the question shocking him. “Do I disgust you now?”

Poppy stared into the hardened features of Jack’s face, the chill in his eyes, fearing that any tender emotions he may have felt for her were gone forever.

She’d just killed a man. Blood stained her hands and her clothing, proof of her carelessness in protecting herself. Jack was a strong man—nothing but a strong woman would complement him. Strong women didn’t let things like this happen. Did they?

“Disgust me?” His brows furrowed as his thumb whispered over her lips before his hand dropped to her shoulder. “Never, Poppy. You could never disgust me.”

But this event would change her life forever, and she was smart enough to know that. That one impulsive decision to walk home rather than listen to one of her brothers bitch at her because she’d gone to the party could destroy her life.

And possibly Jack’s as well.

What had she done?

For a moment, the implications of what had happened overwhelmed her and threatened the fragile hold she had on the chaos churning in her mind.

“Take it away for a minute, Jack.” Her breathing hitched as she fought the fear threatening to tear through her. “Just for minute. Make it go away…”

Before he could question her, or answer her, she lifted up to him and laid her lips on his as they parted to answer her.

He froze.

Poppy felt Jack’s body tighten, his muscles bunching as though to push her away from him. She knew it could be her last chance for the kiss she’d dreamed of—she wanted at least one kiss. Just a single taste of what she’d been longing for.

She could never have expected his response.

As she prepared to move back, to break the fragile contact, his lips slanted over hers, his tongue moving to lick, to taste hers. Pleasure swamped her. His kiss was hot, experienced, and sent the most incredible sensations rushing through her.

She’d been kissed before, but never like this. Like she was a banquet, and he was a man starved for the taste of her alone.

Arching to him, her hands gripped the short length of his black hair as she fought to get closer to him. To feel the warmth of the hard, hot body seeming to surround hers.

Heat built inside her—the need for more, to feel more of him, taste more of him.

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