“It’s fine.” I clear my throat, studiously ignoring the stir in my groin at the sensation of her soft breasts pressing against my chest. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What?”
“You can’t stay here.” I peel away reluctantly, tugging on a lock of her hair. “It’s overrun with at least one cockroach.”
She laughs wetly. “That you so kindly squashed on my bedroom floor.”
“Bastard had it coming.” I pull her enormous suitcase out of the closet and hoist it onto the bed. “Come on, Princess. Time to abandon the castle.”
“The dungeon cell, you mean.”
“I won’t wait all night. Where’s the cat? Your meds?”
A catch a glimpse of a smile as she shoves clothes into the suitcase.
The houseboat is smaller than this apartment. We’ll be orbiting each other even tighter than at Fable, and with Gator in the mix, too. This is one of my more awful ideas, and yet I can’t bring myself to snatch back the invitation. Douglas told me to keep her safe, didn’t he? Cockroaches aside, if a storm rolls into town, that apartment building won’t stand a chance. This is the responsible thing to do. Smart, really.
We’re quiet on the ride to the marina. Poppy doesn’t protest when I carry her bags down the dock. She puts her hand in mine so I can help her onto the houseboat. Gator blinks at us from inside his carrier, his eyes shining. The water is flat and still and slowly darkening as the sherbert colored sunset fades away.
Inside, Poppy turns in a slow circle, taking in the space. My body grows taut, ready to rebuff her judgement. I know it’s not exactly a palace, but I’ve become oddly protective of it.
“I’ve been dying to know what the inside looks like,” she says. She bends to free Gator, who stretches hugely, then ambles for the couch. “Ever since the first day, when you stomped off to get me that shirt.”
“It’s not much.”
She traces her fingertips along a wooden-framed window. “It’s like the restaurant. Beautiful, underneath the mess.” She sneaks a look at me. “I thought you were the neat one.”
“Only in the kitchen.” I lead the way through the boat, showing her the small, puzzle-like features that come together to make it a home. The drop-down table, the storage in the sofa, the tiny alcove for the bed. No space is ever wasted on a boat. It’s like nothing she’s used to, I’m sure, but she doesn’t protest. Not even when I show her the closet-like bathroom and even smaller shower.
“Where should I sleep?” she asks eventually. “The couch?”
“Have the bed.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod stiffly. Sharing the bed would be a disaster, especially if she wore that nightgown. I’d be awake all night, fighting to keep myhands to myself. My imagination teases me for half a second with the image of my fingers playing with the delicate straps. Pulling them down her sunburned shoulders to free her tits. Her breath would hitch when I kissed them. She’d tremble underneath me as I dragged a hand between her legs, cupping where she’s most sensitive.
That can’t happen. Not in my fantasies, and certainly not in real life. I give myself a mental slap, grabbing one of the pillows and an extra blanket from the chest at the foot of the bed. The couch is too small for me to spread my legs out, so I’ll have to go onto the deck. Hopefully it doesn’t rain tonight. It won’t be the first night I’ve spent under the stars.
She worries her bottom lip. “Thank you.”
My cock twitches at her soft voice. I clear my throat. “Of course.”
I set up a makeshift bed on the bow, trying studiously to ignore what’s going on below-deck. Yet I know, in the back of my mind, two things:
One, it won’t be the first night I dream of Poppy Winfield.
And two, I definitely won’t be telling her father about this.
Chapter 23
Egg Yolk
Poppy
“Are you sure?”
“Poppy.”
