The image was so awful that Poppy wanted to laugh. And maybe would have if her eyes weren’t brimming. The fire spit and sparkled, warming her back. Sam’s quiet, low voice warmed her more. But it still wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have. “When you’re a kid, you don’t always know when things are wrong. You just go with the cards you’re dealt.”

  “I understand that totally. But I hope you feel proud of yourself. Really proud.”

  “Maybe I am. Sometimes. But there were lots of times when I didn’t have a clue what to do. And even more times when I knew things weren’t like they should be.”

  “You were neglected. Emotionally. Physically. And every other way a child could be neglected. As far as I can tell he was never there. For any of you. But especially never for you.”

  Poppy pulled up her knees, wrapped her arms around them. She’d never seen Sam upset before. He’d never seen her this close to tears. “There were definitely a few things that happened that weren’t . . . right. Like when my sister got her first period, and I didn’t have a clue how my mom would have handled it. Like when I caught Marigold putting a pack of gum in her pocket at the grocery store, which we hadn’t paid for. There was nothing terrible. Or dangerous. Just life stuff. We coped. No one was hurt. But around the time I was fifteen, I admit I came close to telling someone. A school counselor. Or one teacher I really liked.”

  “But you didn’t tell.”

  “I thought about it.”

  “But you didn’t tell,” he repeated.

  “Sam.” Poppy said his name in her calmest voice. “By then I was old enough to understand that just maybe he was guilty of neglect. And that possibly he could have been found incompetent, incapable of taking care of us. And the thing was—if it came down to social workers and a court ruling, the three of us could have been separated, farmed out to different foster care families. I was never dead sure if my dad would fight for us. I’m not even sure—if I couldn’t keep doing the mini-mom role—that he wouldn’t have given us up without a fuss. Maybe he didn’t need us, but we needed and only had one another. We were family. I had to make it work.”

  He said nothing for a moment. Most people found her father a brilliant artist. Some tolerated his artistic temperament, but no one had ever asked or seemed to guess that three vulnerable girls were raising themselves. Outsiders saw a loving family. The girls were all smart, good in school, never in trouble.

  Only Sam, in all these years, had cut straight to that mighty uncomfortable truth. Sometimes, Poppy was pretty positive she should have told someone—an adult someone—how things really were. But she’d only been a kid. A zillion crises came up all the time. She’d never known for sure what she should have done. She just kept trying. To keep them all safe. Together. Through thick and thin.

  Poppy couldn’t guess if Sam understood the choices she’d made. But she knew, from the heart, that he hated the position she’d been put in—especially when he growled, “I think you did terrific. Beyond terrific. It’s just killing me, Red. What you felt you had to take on. What you did take on. I wish to hell I could have been there for you.”

  Oh, yeah. He got it. “It’s okay, Sam. I’m okay. We’re all okay.” She closed her eyes, closed the tears away. She’d done plenty of that kind of crying a long time ago. She lifted her chin, tried to add some lightness, make a joke. “I mean, we’re fairly messed up, but not more than about everyone in the universe.”

  “Just . . . c’mere,” he said, in the same low growl and opened his arms.

  He folded her up in a hug. Just rocked with her for long minutes. And then rocked her some more. His heartbeat thunked against her cheek. She felt his fingers sieve through her hair, felt the encompassing warmth of him. She wasn’t sure who needed the hug more—her or him—but it was different from electricity, different from desire. This was more a fierce urge to be part of him, for him to be part of her.

  Sam didn’t like how she’d grown up. Hey. Neither did she.

  But Poppy no longer worried that Sam was trying to slow them down. Her truth was the same as his—they’d simply had no time to be together since the first and only time they’d made love.

  He lifted his head, smoothed her hair again, and abruptly looked round. “I hate to say it, but this place is really a mess.”

  “I know. Isn’t it wonderful? I always thought this was how Christmas should be. Lots of messes, lots of good smells, lots of lights. And no brussels sprouts.”

  He laughed. “I’m with you on the brussels sprouts—and all the rest. So let’s leave it all, make sure the food’s put away—then you bring a toothbrush and let’s go over to my place.” He added, “So I can give you your present.”

  “And I can’t wait to give you yours.”

  * * *

  SAM’S PLAN WAS for her to snuggle next to him on the ride to his place. That probably would have worked out if Bubbles hadn’t bullied her way into the seat between them. The dog couldn’t be happier.

  Poppy didn’t complain, but Sam really only wanted to snuzzle against one female. Noncanine.

  “Dinner was super,” she said. “You all did more work than I did.”

  “You just got stuck doing a different kind of work. And I really enjoyed the time with your family.”

  She tilted her head so she could see him behind the dog. “Are you going to be okay with my dad?”

  “Yup.” He had a feeling they’d have to dive into that subject more than once. “Whatever I may personally think—he’s your father. I’ll get along with him. Promise. Don’t worry about it, even for a minute.” He steered toward other subjects. “Everybody gave thoughtful presents. What’d you think of your sisters coming up with a full ‘day spa’ for you?”

  “I’ve heard of a ‘hot rocks massage’ but never thought I’d get the chance to experience it. And a whole day of being spoiled witless? Really, really thoughtful of them.”

  “And some mysterious someone came up with the three-foot-long chew b-o-n-e for Bubbles.”

  “Thank you for spelling it. The last time someone said the word, I got my entire face washed with kisses. She can have it when she’s settled down somewhere. Anyway . . . personally, I thought the best gift was my sterling silver marshmallow stick.”

  He chuckled. She was still carrying it. No way was she willing to leave it at home. “Glad you love it . . . and that I could surprise you. And one more thing on the Call the Mrs. idea for your dad. I hope he takes advantage of it, but who knows? He could like things just the way they are. I just hoped that you three—especially you—wouldn’t feel quite so obligated to jump every time he calls, if he has other options.”

  Poppy leaned her head back. “That gift is an unspoken permission for me to say no to him, Sam, instead of jumping every time he asks me for something. I know what you were doing. Believe it or not, I think I’m actually learning to be tough.”

  “Yeah, you are.” Maybe Sam thought she was tough as a spring rose, but what she wanted was to be tough on her own terms. And in so many ways she was breaking new ground, doing just that.

  “Are you wondering what your present is?” Poppy teased.

  “I’m not sure. Is it scary?”

  “Nope.”

  “Something to wear?”

  “Nope.”

  “Big or small?”

  “I’m afraid to answer that.”

  “Uh-oh.” Finally he pulled into his drive. “How big?”

  “I’m afraid it’s going to require a forklift to bring to you.”

  When Poppy popped out of the truck and aimed for the door, Sam had to stop for a moment, just to look at her. She mesmerized him, silhouetted against the holiday lights, the starshine, the arc of a pearl-white moon. Impossible to beat the magical stillness of a Christmas Eve night. He raised his hand. She took it, smiling up at him.

  He smiled back, until it finally registered, what she’d said about his present. “Did you say your present’s going to take a forklift? What have you done?!”

  “That’s all the hints you’re getting, so no more begging.”

  Again, there were loads of things to bring in. This time, Sam steered Poppy toward the front door, where spruce boughs dripped lights over the entryway.

  “A forklift?” he repeated, but then he didn’t wait to hear her answer. He just wanted the chores done and out of the way. As quickly as he could, he stashed boxes and bags in the kitchen, peeled off his parka. By the time he hustled back to the front hall, she’d hung up her parka, shed boots, and came straight for him. She wanted kisses. Now. Not later. Right now. It was one of his problems with her. She couldn’t keep her hands off him.

  But she couldn’t quit talking to him either. “Sam?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Now I’m worried that you’re not going to like it. Or that you’ll think I’m a nutcase for giving you something like this.”

  “I already think you’re a nutcase,” he assured her.

  “Whew. That’s a relief. Where are we going? Up? Down?”

  “For a couple minutes, I have to wait for Bubbles to come in. She’s still out, taking care of business.”

  “Okay, then I’ll wait here with you. What’s up for you tomorrow?”

  “Going to Conan’s. We rotate. But Kristin being six, this may be her last year to believe in Santa, so we’re going to his house this year. And I’m counting on you to come.”

  “I’d intrude.”

  Darn woman forced him to kiss her again. “You’re incapable of intruding. Besides which, this way you’ll meet the whole family at the same time. They’re scary for sure, noisy and rowdy and mess makers extraordinaire. On the other hand, everybody brings something, so there’s lots of great food. Only there’s no sterling, no fancy dishes. BYO or whatever beverage you want. It’s easy. But—”

  “But?”

  “But you think your sisters are bad? We’ll barely get there before my brothers—and the females in the family—pounce on you like meat at a carnivore convention.”

  “That’s such a pretty image,” she said wryly, but he just grinned.

  “It’s pretty much like meeting your sisters. Most strangers would be terrified, but it won’t be remotely scary for you. You already know about people talking at the same time, and asking questions that are none of their business, evaluating our relationship without knowing a darn thing.”

  “That just sounds normal.”

  “See? I told you you’d be fine. You’ll love it. And they’ll love you. Aha, here’s the baby.” When he opened the door, Bubbles galloped into the house, shook off the snow, and galloped down the hall.

  “Where’s she going?”

  “It’s time for bed.”

  “Um . . . is she sleeping with us?”

  “I had in mind—no. But I can’t swear who’ll be in bed with us at four in the morning. She can open doors. And if a door is locked, she howls until you can’t sleep and have to open it anyway.”

  “Sam?”

  “Hmm?” He’d taken her hand, was leading her up the stairway.

  “Why is it so easy to be with you?”

  “Because. It’s so easy to be with you. Which I never found with anyone else, ever. Just in case you were wondering.”

  When they reached his room, Sam ignored the overhead, just turned on the light in the bathroom, so Poppy wouldn’t have to worry about stumbling around an unfamiliar room in the night. Still, especially for tonight, he switched on the logs in the lapis fireplace. Immediately the flames shot up, glittering gold, scattering light and shadow all through the room. The darkness blurred everything but what he wanted to see—her. Just her.

  * * *

  FOR POPPY, HIS sudden silence unnerved her. She had no idea why her heart picked up an uneasy drumbeat. She wasn’t remotely afraid of Sam. She had no doubts about wanting to be with him. And it wasn’t their first time.

  But, she realized, this time was in his bed, his house. His world. Sam wasn’t a player any more than she was. The first time had been as natural as sunshine. This time, in every way, he’d invited her into his life.

  Those were much higher stakes.

  Poppy hadn’t changed her mind. Looking at him, she couldn’t imagine changing her mind. The way he looked at her was mesmerizing, as intimate as any touch. The fireplace kept shooting ribbons of gold fire, providing soft light and smoky shadows. Enough shadows to block out everything else—but him. Just him.

  He’d been talking nonstop. She was the one who usually talked nonstop, not him.

  Slowly she approached Sam, lifting her hands to his shoulders. Looking straight in his eyes, she slid her hands down to the bottom of his sweater. Lifted. Carefully. All the way over his head.

  The sweater flopped on the floor. His eyes, in the firelight, suddenly changed from dark to ebony dark.

  “Are we through talking for a while, Sam?”

  There seemed to be a frog in his throat, because his voice came out husky. “I hope so.”

  “Me, too.” Under his sweater was a long-sleeved tee. She pulled that over his head, too. “I can’t imagine why you’ve been worried about this.”

  “I’m not worried. Even remotely.” Sam tried clearing the frog from his throat again. “I just need this to be right. To be perfect. And I’m not sure I know how to make this perfect for you.”

  “I have an idea.” Her fingers found his belt buckle. The buckle was a thick heavy metal that wasn’t going to give in easily—but then she’d never been one to give in easily either. “Let’s both hope this goes terribly.”

  “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “I do. Then we can practice it over and over and over, until we get it right.”

  There. His breathing eased. That black shine in his eye was still mighty sexy, mighty serious . . . but Sam’s sense of humor kicked in. “I love how you think, Poppy.”

  Suddenly his hands got busy. He was a lot faster than she was. Her sweater sailed through the air. Then his hands slid down to her leggings, sneaked inside to her bare skin, and then slowly, slowly skimmed them all the way down to her ankles. She kicked them away. Rather violently, for her.

  “I’m not worried anymore,” he assured her.

  “I can see that.”

  “But I was worried. That this was too soon for you. That you weren’t ready to put me on your serious list, much less on your forever list. That I was pushing you—”

  She pressed a single finger on his lips. That problem needed to be nipped in the bud right now. “After I was grown and on my own, Sam, I could never pin down what was wrong with my life—for years. I knew what I didn’t want. I knew what made me unhappy. But not what was right for me.”

  Poppy unsnapped her bra. “Then I met you. And in less than two weeks, I totally knew. You think that’s fast? I think I wasted all these years not knowing you. Not loving you. Not going after what I really wanted in my life.”

  “And now you’re in a hurry.”

  She wasn’t. Until she got the darned belt buckle loose and managed the zipper. Then . . . well, she lifted both palms to his chest and pushed—just lightly, but the big man fell on the mattress as if jet-propelled.

  Accidentally, Sam pulled her with him. Poppy was almost laughing when he kissed her. Then . . . not.

  It only took a few more seconds to make the rest of their clothes disappear. The shock of intimacy, no-secrets intimacy, total vulnerable intimacy, seemed to inflame them both.

  Closing her eyes seemed to ignite other senses. Taste—his mouth, his neck, his fingertips. Salt and sugar, cream and cool and tangy. Sounds—groans and moans, whispers and hissed-in breath. And touch—ah, touch. Every texture of him invited her, exited her. The slope of his shoulders, the sleek muscles of his upper arms, the flat of his abdomen. And then the power, the right, to touch him. He was long, throbbing soft, then in a fury of hot and hard.

  He lifted her above him, on him, so she was straddling his thighs. Then he shimmied in, slow and deep and careful, until she was all full, all filled, filled up to her navel—or so she felt. When she opened her eyes, his gaze was on hers, intense and possessive. He started slow, silky strokes, his palms cradling her behind, giving her all the control over this pony.

  Suddenly restless, she bucked to speed his pace, but Sam seemed far too greedy to go fast. He aimed for torturously slow.

  Neither wanted this to be over, no matter how fierce the yearning, how desperate the need. She’d never been lonely in her life, never had the time. But she felt lonely now, lonely to belong to him, to be enriched by him, taken by him. Loved by him.

  From somewhere, he whispered, “All for me, Poppy?”

  And she whispered back, “All for you. Only for you.”

  He turned her again, this time so she was beneath him, covered by him. She had the power to stroke, to clench, to tease . . . to shower love on him—until both of them had ridden too close to the cliff and soared off, in a gush of release and a sweet scream of satisfaction.

  She was pretty sure he swore her name. She was positive she swore his. Eventually both of them started breathing again. Both of them sank into the pillows, still wrapped around each other.

  She remembered touching his cheek, his neck. She remembered his slipping a sheet over them both, then a warm blanket. Then nothing, beyond the shelter of his arms.

  Chapter Fourteen

  SOMEWHERE AROUND DAWN, Poppy heard an odd sound—an almost imperceptible pattern of tapping.

  Sam climbed out of bed before she could. He walked to the door, let Bubbles in, snapped his fingers, and the dog promptly leaped on a long couch against the wall.

  “Her bed,” Sam murmured and climbed back under the blankets with Poppy. He rearranged everything. Her arm across his chest. Her head snuggled just right against his shoulder. The down comforter pressed just so, so there were no air leaks, no nasty drafts getting anywhere near her. “Keep sleeping,” he said. “It’s crazy early.”