“You learned Spanish? When?”
“This past year. It’s not that difficult, especially since I had French and some Latin when I was at Wildwood. The accent is the hardest part for me. My first instructor was a lady from Madrid, but then she left and I hired someone else who had grown up in Caracas. And it sounded completely different.”
“Why?”
“Well, I’d imagine because the accent and mode of speech developed in isolation.”
“No, why learn Spanish!” Was she trying to be maddening? (No, she didn’t have to try.)
“Oh. At first, it was because I wanted to talk to you. I thought it would be nice to be able to greet you in Spanish when I saw you again. But then I didn’t see you again. Or hear from you. Or hear of you. So I decided to learn several additional words and phrases to tell you what I thought of your behavior.”
“Don’t think I want to know what those are.”
“I had to pay the lady from Caracas extra to teach them to me. She was quite shocked I wanted to know.”
Then something occurred to him. “Wait. You understood what I was saying on the beach last night!” When he said some things he definitely would not have said if he thought she’d actually know what he was feeling.
“I got the gist.”
“Poppy, you…deceived me.”
“You underestimated me.”
“So I did.” He wouldn’t make that mistake again. He pulled her close and kissed her.
Poppy let out one tiny indignant squeak, which nearly made him laugh out loud, except then she was kissing him back, and he had no time to be amused, because he was too busy being aroused.
She had a sharp tongue when in public, but she had very soft lips when in private. He grazed one thumb along her lower lip, just to make sure, and got a soft, startled Carlos for his trouble. And it turned out that he loved to hear his name from her mouth like that. He deepened the kiss, exploring how she reacted to his tongue.
She moaned and wrapped her hands around his shoulders, which he took to mean she liked it. Then she slipped her own tongue over his, and he forgot how to breathe for a second. He couldn’t remember ever being so aroused by a simple kiss.
What would happen when they actually slept together? The possibilities excited him beyond reason.
When he broke off the kiss (mostly to get his breath back), her eyes were still closed, and she had a soft, dreamy, decidedly un-Poppyish expression on her face. She looked almost…gentle.
“Why’d you do that?” she asked.
“I decided a year was long enough to wait, and what would people say if they knew I had this enchanting woman in my room and I didn’t even try to seduce her?”
“Ah, so you’re protecting your reputation by ruining mine.” (Now that phrasing was more Poppyish. But also, she didn’t sound that upset).
“I’m not ruining it,” he promised. “No one will know you were here. You’ve got a gift for sneaking about in the dark.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His hand found the tie that fastened the outer layer of her dressing gown, and he pulled at it until it came loose. Underneath she wore a chemise that barely covered her up. The fabric was so thin he could see enough of her figure to raise his own temperature.
“You could have asked first,” she noted, not trying to pull the top layer back over her body.
“Fine. Can I undress you?” he asked.
“No, of course not. But you can kiss me again.”
He didn’t have to be told twice.
Poppy responded with enough heat that he wanted to keep her there till dawn. He didn’t exactly plan to pin her against the wall and kiss her senseless, but that’s what was happening a few moments later. He felt her lips on his throat and heard her saying something about what a very bad idea this was, and how she didn’t even like him, but how she was doing it anyway.
It would be very easy to see just how far her curiosity would take them.
