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“Cameron,” she said easily, and my chest warmed that I was right. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s protective, he just shows it in a different way. He takes care of people. Always has. He’s never done it with threats or glares or punching out some dude who got handsy on a date.”
My eyebrow lifted. “You’ve had that?”
“Once,” she sighed. Then her cheeks flushed a brilliant red. “I was young. Still in high school. A senior asked me out, I wasn’t interested, and he got a little forward when I tried to say no. I told Greer, she got in the guy’s face when she ran into him downtown, and Cameron saw it.”
“I thought you said Cameron wasn’t the violent type?”
Not that I wouldn’t find it terribly appealing if he punched someone. Only if they really deserved it.
Gawd, I was sick in the head for this man.
“Oh he’s not.” She swallowed, her eyes cutting to mine. “His best friend Jax, though…”
Ahh.
The feverish look in her eye, the bright red cheeks.
Everything was coming together. Looks like I wasn’t the only one harboring inconvenient fantasies about testosterone-fueled violence.
We got back in the car, our shopping bags safely tucked in the back seat of her car.
“Jax punched a guy for you?” I asked lightly.
She cleared her throat. “Never confirmed or denied. But Jax followed him out of school one day, and the guy showed up with a black eye. He’s”—she swallowed again—“Jax will never admit if he did it. He’s like, ten years older than me and has no people skills. He hardly looks at me when we’re in the same room.”
“And you want him to?”
Poppy didn’t answer right away.
“I’m ready for someone who will look at me when we’re in the same room,” she said firmly. “I want to feel wanted.”
“Well that purple dress should help,” I told her. “You have a good push-up bra?”
“Ugh, yes. I hate wearing it, though.”
“Who doesn’t?” I eyed a pink-and-white-striped awning a couple of blocks down from the clothing boutique. “Is Jax back at work with Cameron now?”
“I think so.” She gave me a strange look. “Why?”
I pointed at the bakery. “We’re bringing donuts to the house, and you’re coming with me.”
She opened her mouth.
“No arguments,” I told her. “You made me try on a sunflower dress, Poppy.” I eyed her over the rim of my sunglasses. “And wasn’t I right?”
She sighed. “You were right. You looked like Pollyanna.”
I shuddered. “I know.”
Poppy laughed, and we walked to the bakery, exiting a short while later with three boxes of donuts. When we arrived at the house, it was buzzing with activity, a far cry from the last time I’d seen it, and I tried not to gape at the sheer chaos and noise in the small rooms. Electricians worked on the last couple of light fixtures, laughing and chatting with plumbers as they installed the champagned bronze faucet over the kitchen sink. Cameron’s crew mingled between them, everyone doing finishing touches on a space that was completely unrecognizable from the first night I’d walked in.
Poppy gave me a wry grin when the work continued despite us standing in the door with an arm full of sugary treats.
“Donuts,” she yelled. “Eat ’em now, or I’m taking ’em home.”
The work came to a halt.
Then we were swarmed, lots of smiles and thank yous, and the first two boxes emptied at an alarming pace. From the second floor, Cameron’s boots, then his long legs appeared as he came down the stairs, his eyes landing unerringly on mine when he reached the landing. Ian was following Cameron, and behind him, a tall, muscular man with dark hair and hard features appeared next, ink covering his arms underneath the black T-shirt stretched across his chest.
