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“I hated to interrupt the show, but you know . . .” He throws his head to side, indicating that the parents are all one wall away, listening raptly. The way he’s looking at Poppy, though, has me furious, his greedy eyes tracking slowly up and down her body like he’s noticing things about her that he has zero business noticing.
She’s mine, asshole.
I don’t know where the thought comes from, but I go with it, putting myself between Ian and Poppy to intentionally block his sightline, and snap sharply, “We’ll be there when we’re done with our discussion.”
My unexpected anger only fuels Ian’s interest, and his brow lifts as he smirks, “Discussion? Is that what it’s called these days? Maybe you should deal with your mother’s temper tantrum over the wedding drama, and I can have a word with Poppy. I’d be happy to explain the family history.”
I’m certain any ‘family history’ he’d explain would amount to why I’m a piece of shit. Not that I’d give him a chance alone with Poppy. He thinks he’s cute and clever, but he’s slick and slimy, virtually licking his lips at whatever indecent image he’s creating in his mind.
The mere thought strikes a dark chord in my gut, making me see red before I can even consider why I’m feeling possessive and protective of the redheaded spitfire currently peeking around my arm at Ian.
Strike that . . . the redhead who was behind me. Poppy moves deftly and gracefully around my body, one hand on her hip and one finger stabbing Ian in the chest, murder written on her face. “Does that sort of shit actually work for you or are you used to saying whatever you want because of the size of your wallet?”
She pokes him harder, her fingernail definitely causing a dent in the thin skin beneath his expensive shirt and cutting off any lame ass retort he can come up with. “Don’t bother answering because we all know the answer, don’t we? You couldn’t ‘explain’ a damn thing to me. You’re not capable of anything more than parroting what others say. So why don’t you run along back to Mommy and let the grownups talk? Like Connor said, we’ll be there when we’re done with our discussion. However long it takes.”
Ian looks at Poppy in shock and maybe a little pain as she digs in hard with her finger once more to send him on his way. Me, I’m in shock . . . and utterly delighted. And it’s for the same reason. No one’s ever told Ian off before, but she does it easily and without hesitation, cutting him exactly where it hurts the most.
Don’t piss her off. She really can get your balls in her purse if she wants.
I store that tidbit away too.
The silence is deafening, both in the hallway and in the dining room beyond. Everyone is waiting for Ian’s response. Except, of course, Poppy, who waits for no one and nothing. When Ian doesn’t skip himself right back as instructed, Poppy waves her hand at him, shooing him. “Go on. Or I’m gonna step aside and let Connor tell you in his way.”
I’m not some attack dog she can control, calling off or siccing me on people at will, but the twisted evil pleasure she gives those words is downright sexy as hell. And fine, beating the shit out of Ian would be a fucking dream come true. He’s deserved it for a long time.
Too bad today’s the not the day I get that chance because though he gives me one last glance, trying mightily to seem unbothered, when I take a step his way, he squeaks and runs back to the dining room.
When I glance down at Poppy, she’s got her hands over her mouth, trying to cover the fit of giggles pouring forth. I give her a dark look, changing my trajectory and stepping closer to her menacingly. “You think blowing up my family is funny?”
She shrugs, still fighting her laughter and not concerned at all about the monster in her midst and manages to say, “Not your mom or Caylee.” Pointing over her shoulder, she adds, “But him? Yeah, he deserves it. And it was funny.”
She’s right, but I hold my glare steadily, not willing to lose control again. I’m able to keep it up for a second or two until she makes a fear-filled face, her shoulders hunched up to her chin, and mouths, “Mommy! Help!” Her impression of Ian sends me over.
I can’t stop the laugh that rumbles out of me. She’s irreverent and wild, a rebel with zero fucks to give doing whatever she wants, which is somehow entertaining and interesting as hell.
Her hand goes to my chest, her palm flat over my sternum and her eyes locked there as well. “What?” I grunt, the laugh dying off instantly.
