I look over, wondering exactly what she’s typing about, but she doesn’t seem to mind as I start reading her story.

  . . . his eyes roam over my body, the searing heat trailing behind like his laser intensity is real. His hunger is a palpable thing, as real and physical as his sexy, chiseled chest, and when he reaches for me, I can’t resist even though I know I should.

  This isn’t what good girls do.

  She keeps typing, so fast that her cursor stays ahead of my reading. I’m surprised steam isn’t rising from the keys of the cheap little computer, not only because of how fast she’s typing but how super hot and over the top it is.

  I mean, it’s sexy as hell, and I sort of wonder if more men should read romance like this. They might learn a trick or two.

  “And . . . yeah, the clit thing,” Poppy murmurs, lifting a finger before going off on another speedy rush of flying fingers and smokin’ hot words on the page.

  “Is this what you usually write?” I ask when her fingers slow a bit.

  “Shh, wait one second,” she responds, holding up one finger in the universal ‘wait’ sign.

  She taps the keyboard without typing and then reads what she’s written aloud. Listening to Poppy’s breathy, sexy voice read what she’s written transforms the words from being ‘lady porn’ to a shot of Viagra-laced Redbull straight to my dick. My buddy’s rock hard, got wings, and is ready for round two. And maybe three and four.

  “Does that sound okay?” she asks when she’s done. “It’s a first draft, so it’s okay if it doesn’t.”

  I roll to my back, taking my cock in my fist and showing her the effects she’s had on me. “It sounds hot as fuck when you read it. And it’s sexy that you have those filthy thoughts in your head.”

  She watches me, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips. “Sweet Lord.”

  “Read it again.”

  She does, her voice slow and deep, seducing me with her mouth in a way that I’ve never imagined. Sure, her being sexy and still nude, the smell of sex in the air, and memories of what we just did helps . . . but it’s her words that have me hard once more.

  “What’s next?” I rasp when she reaches the end of the passage. She begins typing again, saying the words out loud as they spill from her mind through her fingers to the page.

  She smiles as she types and talks at the same time, eyes flicking to my hand stroking my cock and then back to the screen. “His thick cock grew rigid, his balls pulled up tight to his body. Veins stood out on the marbled shaft as he squeezed the base tight, milking out thick drops of precum to glisten on the tip. Stroking himself to right on the edge of exploding, he grunted and pumped harder and faster, knowing that ecstasy was right there for the taking.”

  I follow her commands, my hand moving up and down in a blur and squeezing tight.

  “Come on me,” she says. I’m not sure if that’s her saying it or her character saying it in the book, but I angle myself her way. “Let go, cover my pussy with your cream, and then use your cum to get me off.”

  “Fuck,” I groan, barely rolling fully to my side before I spasm. My back curls in as my cum spurts, the first shot so hard it reaches Poppy’s bellybutton. She must’ve known it was about to happen because she’s already shoved the laptop out of the way protectively.

  I keep stroking, aiming myself as I want every last drop to coat her pussy. I give myself one last swirling stroke to gather the remaining cum on my crown and spread it over her clit and lips.

  “Want me to rub my cum into you? Mark you all up with it, claim you with it?” I don’t know what I’m saying. The words are pouring out of my mouth the way they poured out of Poppy’s fingers.

  “Yes, yes,” Poppy cries out, her eyes tight with fresh want and need.

  I rub the slippery mess on her skin, focusing on her clit after a moment and giving her no mercy. “Come for me. Cover me in your cum too, Poppy. Mark me all up as yours.”

  There’s no doubt that we will both wear the proof of this moment tomorrow. I can feel the marks on my back, can see the hickey I gave her, but this is different. This isn’t just about relieving a physical need. It’s about something else, something just as primal and raw but very different.

  When she explodes, I slip my fingers inside her, wanting to bring forth as much of her cream as I can. I want it all. I want it everywhere.

  Poppy bucks into my hand, our combined juices covering us and dripping down, soaking everything. But the release is more than worth it as we drop bonelessly to the bed, breathing hard.

  “Holy fuckballs. Not yours, but just” —Poppy waves her hand lazily through the air— “you know . . . whoa.”

  “Me too,” I agree.

  At least I know I did something right. I hope it’s enough for later, when she’s wishing she’d never met me. I push that thought away, trying to stay in this moment, with and for Poppy.

  Later will come soon enough, there’s no stopping it, but for now, I can pretend that this is all real and everything will be okay.

  If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s pretending and lying.

  Even to myself.

  “I’ve got pizza rolls,” she says out of nowhere, “unless you want to call for delivery?”

  I laugh at the unexpected question. “We greet the pizza delivery driver like this, and we’ll have a whole different type of story on our hands. Like ‘Delivery Driver Found Dead in Quiet Suburb.’”

  Poppy stops, looking over at me seriously. “Really?”

  “No,” I tell her, raising a brow that she actually might’ve believed that. “But I’m not sharing you with anyone.”

  “Good,” she says, “because I’m a greedy bitch too.”

  Chapter 16

  Connor

  “Does it sound stupid that I don’t want you to leave?”

  I hold Poppy in my arms, her forehead nestled under my chin and her arms wrapped around my waist to twine her fingers into my belt loops. “No. But you’ve got work to do.”

  She makes a growly sound of displeasure that’s fucking adorable and feels sexy as hell against my chest. “I’ve been working all night with you here.”

  That’s true. She’s been typing away for hours. Some of it, I slept through, but then she’d wake me up to read a passage aloud and ask my opinion. It’s fascinating how her mind jumps from one thing to another, and then she fills in the details to get the characters where they need to be. I wish someone had done that for me and my life a long time ago, because I’m obviously shit at it, ending up in a place I never imagined.

  “I know, but you need to focus, and I’ll be a distraction. I’m gonna shower, run some errands, and I’ll be back later.”

  I’m lying to her already. My ‘errand’ is a meeting with JP, but I don’t want to worry her when she needs to meet her deadline. She’s already behind because of my actions, and I don’t want to delay her any further.

  “Okay,” she agrees, lifting to her toes to give me a quick kiss. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” There’s a slight edge to her voice, warning me that I’d better get back here and take her with me to Diana Nichols’s place on time.

  I turn to leave, pausing outside to watch Poppy do a little shimmy back to her sofa to get to work. With Nut on one side and Juice on the other, she immediately begins typing away with a pencil in her mouth.

  I don’t know why she has a pencil considering she has no paper, but I’m not going to ask about her process. I’m just going to appreciate it for what it is.

  I do actually shower, washing and getting fully shaved. After a quick breakfast of black coffee and a protein bar, I hop in my truck to head out. A glance through the window reveals that Poppy’s still hard at work, and I give her a little wave as I shift into drive. She’s so into her writing she doesn’t wave back, but that’s what I want.

  JP’s waiting for me at a coffee shop, not the one where I meet Hunter but a different place. This one is mob affiliated, which makes me wonder again about exactly who Mr. Big is.

  “Heard about what you did for my boy,” JP says flatly by way of greeting. For a moment, I’m worried. Is JP mad? Glad? Is he the friendly distraction while someone else cracks one of these heavy ceramic mugs over my skull, drags me out back, and makes me disappear into the back of a truck?

  But I don’t show any of that concern. All I do is sip my own coffee, setting it down on the counter without letting go. In my mind, I play out options—of using my own mug in defense, of escaping out the front door to go right or left on the street outside, of the number of patrons versus mob guys in here. “Yeah.”

  JP takes a sip of his coffee, one of those tiny-cupped strong things that’s as thick as motor oil and seems to be popular here.

  “Thanks, man. Manuel says Derrick got fired that night. Boss said they didn’t need him stealing from employees and bringing in violence,” JP says with a mirthless smile. “Plus, I guess he wasn’t much for prep that night. Heard he had some sort of accident, busted his nose and a finger.”

  “He should count himself lucky,” I point out. “It was his left hand, not his right.”

  “True. At least he can still wipe his ass properly.” JP’s lips twitch at the idea of Derrick potentially needing someone to clean up his shit, and I think he might’ve preferred that I go for the dominant hand.

  “I promised Manuel a replacement laptop,” I point out. “I intend on making good on that.”

  JP waves me off, sipping again. “No need. I can buy him one. I had been planning on it when you dropped that one in my lap. I figured there was no sense in wasting money if I got one for free. So it’s nothing. You paid for it by sticking up for my boy.”

  It’s a relief, and we sip our drinks in companionable silence. “He’s a good kid. How much does he know?” I ask carefully.

  “Enough to know that washing dishes in a restaurant is cleaner than the life his father leads,” JP says. There’s the smallest hint of bitterness in his eyes, but it’s gone before I’m sure it was even there. “I came here and did whatever I could to give my son the choices I never had. Now he’s doing just that.” JP laughs quietly. “Although I do wish he’d become an engineer or a doctor, like I wanted. But kids these days, with all their fanciful ideas of chasing their dreams.” JP rolls his eyes, but his smile seems genuine, as though he’s glad his boy can have the luxury of a dream.

  “Want me to go by the restaurant every once in a while? Make sure they’re treating him right? I didn’t get to eat anything but a couple of chips, so I wouldn’t mind checking out the food.”

  JP shakes his head. “No, I went in for lunch to see my boy. I sat down with him, right there in the restaurant, and got the whole story. Though I have a question, one Manuel said you could answer.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The waitress, she called me El Hombre Conejo. Care to explain?”

  I grin, laughing into my mug. I’m no expert in Spanish beyond knowing the curses that can lead to a bad situation, but I know enough to deduce that they’re calling JP The Rabbit Man, aka something worse than the Easter Bunny.

  “Something I said to scare the idiots there. Don’t skin them alive.”

  JP shrugs, not taking the joke. “Just tape their mouths shut first,” JP counters, “then it’s no problem.”

  He sets his cup down and sighs, his face going stony. It’s time for business. JP reaches into his suit jacket and takes out a small envelope. “Mr. Big has a job assignment for you.”

  “Now?” I ask incredulously. Normally, assignments are weeks, if not months, apart. This close together increases the chances of the police being aware of what’s going on. “I’m working on something else, but it’ll wrap up in a day or two.”

  JP frowns and gives me a discerning look. “Is that something else about five foot three, redheaded, and quite pretty? She’s terrible at playing hide ‘n’ seek.”

  The mention of Poppy on his tongue sends ice through my veins and is enough to change my mind. The threat is clear and doesn’t need to be spelled out. “What do you have for me?”

  Wish I could say no, but I can’t help it. This is my job, and I need to do whatever I have to so that I can prove myself to JP and get a meet and greet with the big guy himself. I need that. I deserve that after everything I’ve done for the man.

  Poppy said I’d know when and if I were done, and it’s not now. I know that for sure. Especially when the last thing I want is for JP to think Poppy has anything to do with my work. Or worse, might be holding me back from the work Mr. Big wants me to do. That’d put her in danger.

  “There’s a piece coming into town.” Now that I’ve agreed, JP is relaxed again, sipping his drink.

  “What’s the timeline?” I ask, and JP pushes the envelope toward me.

  “Data,” JP says. “We want you to do some research to see if retrieval would be possible. We need to plan this down to the smallest detail. No chances for anything to go wrong. But if Mr. Big says go, the time window is extremely small.”

  I nod in understanding, taking the envelope and slipping it into my back pocket. “Understood. I’ll be in touch.”

  Business complete, I drain the rest of my coffee and offer JP a nod to say goodbye. I’m still on high alert as I leave the coffee shop, but everything seems fine as I get in my truck.

  On the drive back to the house, my mind starts . . . musing. Perhaps this isn’t the traditional path people take, but as I look back, I have to admit to myself that I take pride in my work. I’ve worked hard to perfect my skills and get to where I am, and I’m so close to meeting Mr. Big. That’s been a goal for a while, and it’s right there, barely beyond my reach.

  But with that comes the truth that what I do is risky. JP said he needs this planned down to the nitty gritty so nothing goes wrong, but nobody knows that more than I do. If something were to happen, I’d be the one who pays the price, with hard time or my life.

  I’m about halfway home before a thought hits me.

  Poppy would pay the price too.

  I didn’t mean for this to happen, and maybe I should’ve stopped it before things went too far. But the truth is . . . it already has. It’s too late to go back now. Or is it?

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. One little run-in at a fancy dinner and a ripped bag have somehow sent both of our lives veering diametrically off-course.

  More than that, she’s going to get hurt, and it’ll be all my fault.

  I warned her, but it doesn’t make it any less wrong.

  By the time late afternoon rolls around, I’ve got myself half convinced that I have to break this off. I have to tell her that we can’t do this anymore, even though it hurts somewhere deep in my chest to decide that. Not my heart, I sold that to the devil long ago, but maybe to the hollow void where it used to reside.

  We need to get her laptop back tonight, and then I have to stop this insanity. Whether I want to or not. For her sake.

  My resolve is echoed in my firm knock on her door, and I tell myself again . . . laptop and done. But when the door opens, she sends me stumbling backward as she leaps at me and kisses me hard, hanging onto my neck and waist with her arms and legs.

  “Hey,” she says when I can finally be sure I’m not going to fall down, crushing Nut or Juice underneath me since they’re dancing around my ankles and yapping. “I missed you.”

  “I can see that,” I reply, holding her up to feel the press of her body against mine for as long as possible. Her intensity is a powerful drug I could easily get addicted to.

  Maybe I already am.

  “You’ve become part spider monkey.”

  “I prefer tree sloth, but that’s because you’ve got a thick piece of wood for me to hold onto,” she teases, wiggling against me and said piece of ‘wood’. “I made dinner for us before we go.”

  Stunned into silence, I let her slide down my body and then follow her into the kitchen. She’s cleaned up a bit, and while her whiteboard and corkboard are still in their familiar places, the table itself has been totally cleared. The papers are gone, stashed away someplace, and instead of the mess, she’s set up two place settings. A candle burns warmly in the center of the table.

  It looks like a romantic dinner date at home.

  “You shouldn’t have done this,” I whisper in shock. “What about your work?”

  “I wanted to, and work was fine. I got a lot done. Besides, we’re engaged, remember?” She does little finger quotes around ‘engaged’, but it feels a bit too real with the scene before me. She pulls two plates from the cabinet and sets them down, gesturing for me to sit before she pulls a casserole dish out of the oven. I watch as she serves up two portions of something that smells delicious.

  “I made Diana a dinner too,” Poppy says when she sets the plate of what looks like a homely but delicious shepherd’s pie in front of me. “I figure she’ll be hungry after her shift and more likely to be helpful if she’s fed.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “I cook when I’m nervous, or excited, or both.” Poppy sits down, nearly bouncing in her seat.

  “Are you?” I ask. “Excited? Nervous?”

  Poppy nods enthusiastically, and I notice that her usual messy bun of hair is in a ponytail today. It bounces around on the back of her head, making me want to wrap it around my fist to pull her hair back and thrust deep and hard into her body, making her scream my name. But I keep that to myself, doing my best to remind myself of tonight’s goals . . . laptop and done.

  As we eat, Poppy tells me about the progress she made on her book today. Her smile is easy, her excitement contagious. Both alleviate some of my earlier guilt for fucking up her life by stealing her laptop.

  “So yeah, I was able to get some great action scenes written out,” she says between forkfuls of meat and potatoes. “And I created a separate doc that I’m storing the plotted sex scenes in. I gotta admit, I cranked out two of those today like it was nothing. I haven’t had such an easy time doing scenes like that in . . . well, ever.”

  “Glad I could inspire you,” I joke. “Your writer’s block problem is solved,” I summarize, taking a bite of my own shepherd’s pie. It’s damn good, and while it’s a little early for dinner by my normal schedule, it’s a great dish regardless.