Page 27 of Halloween Town

It was an order he was happy to obey, and he held the back of her head to keep her mouth locked on his. Her hair under his hand was silky and soft, and occasionally a whiff of her delicate shampoo, so fresh and so feminine, hit his nostrils. Keeping his hand on her thigh, he stroked her head, then her cheek, her surprisingly long neck. She was all woman; creamy skin, curves and dips, and all lovely.

Poppy kissed the corner of his mouth and moved her lips to his damn dimple. She dipped her tongue into the shallow indent, and he felt her lips curve. “I’ve always loved your dimple,” she murmured. She ran her thumb through his heavy stubble, then placed her cheek against his.

“If you rub your face on mine like that, you’ll end up with a rash,” he warned her, worried about her skin.

“I like it,” she replied, a little dreamily.

Feeling completely comfortable in his grip and certain that he would hold her, she leaned back a little and drew both thumbs over his eyebrows, then ran the tip of her finger down his nose, tapping the small bump on its bridge. “I remember when this happened,” she said.

“Bloody Hayes,” he muttered.

“Hey, you were trying to scare him by sneaking up on him, and he reacted by head-butting you,” she told him, laughing.

Thom pretended to drop her, and she squealed and dug her fingertips into his shoulders. “It was all Hayes’s fault,” she corrected.

He hauled her back up. “Better.” He patted her bum. “How is it that you don’t weigh much more than you did when you were a kid?”

“I weigh a great deal more,” Poppy told him. “You’re just more muscled than you were before.” She squeezed his bicep. “These are pretty impressive, Sheffield.”

He smiled, happy that she’d noticed. And he’d gained more muscle working on Solstice Deep than he ever had at the gym. The house was definitely a mean, demanding old lady who gave him a damn good workout every day.

And as much as he wanted to stand here holding this delicious bundle, they really did need to get home because Fel hated to be left alone and would soon be at the end of his patience. Shit would get real pretty soon.

He slowly lowered Poppy to her feet. He also needed to figure out how to go forward with her living in his house, and whether he was allowed to want her, and whether she wanted him. ‘We should get back,’ he said.

Poppy pushed both hands into her hair and shook it out. “Yeah, I guess.” She darted a look at him, then at her boots, words hovering on her lips.

He knew what she wanted to say, could see every word in her expressive eyes. That, while the kiss had been great—great as in mind-blowingly sexy, hot, and freakin’ damn amazing—that’s all he could expect for now. Possibly ever. Seeing her struggle for words, he thought he’d save her the time and energy. “Don’t overthink it, Poppy. It was a kiss, nothing more.”

It was such a lie. It was a kiss, sure, but also so much more. He wasn’t seeing her as a friend, as someone he used to know, but as a woman. Someone who was a mystery, a grown-up version of that fairy who’d followed him around, a curvy devil who was the definition of temptation.

Her eyes slammed into his, and he hated the confusion in all that blue. He could handle lust and need, but not confusion. Not when it coated a hefty layer of pain. He squeezed her shoulder.

“Consider it a moment’s madness,” he said. “Blame it on an overdose of memories.”

His voice stayed level, steady, giving nothing away—while everything inside him churned. He couldn’t let her see how close he was to snapping. How badly he wanted to pull her into his body, remove her clothing, and make her his. Wanting her like that, wanting her more than he wanted to keep breathing, was dangerous. Indulgent. And entirely off-limits.

So he forced himself to stand there instead, calm on the surface, white-knuckling the need beneath it. Backing off was the smart, sensible thing to do.

She nodded, drew in a steadying breath, then shoved her hands deep into the front pockets of her jeans, deliberately keeping a safe distance between them. Right. She was in retreat mode—walls up, barriers reinforced, emotional spikes firmly in place.

He should follow her example. He knew the drill. He’d perfected it years ago.

But one truth refused to be ignored: she was one of the very few people, possibly the only one, who could make him want to lower his defenses. And that knowledge—quiet, persistent, and dangerous—settled heavily in his chest and refused to be dislodged.

Chapter Six

Ruby

Much later that day, Ruby stood on the front porch and smiled at Naomi who lay flat on her back on the wide wooden porch. Miss Lila, because nothing of interest was happening in town, had floated up the hill for a gossip, and sat on a windowsill, her legs crossed and her foot swinging. Ruby heard the front door open, and they all turned to see Poppy and Thom walk out onto the porch, icy bottles of beer in their hands. They were both dirty, sweaty, and Poppy had a streak of dust across her cheek. Thom didn’t look much better.

“Thom TV,” Naomi said, sitting up, “yay!”

At the top of the stairs leading to the swathe of grass between the house and the lake, Poppy stretched, arching her back. “Pulling paneling off a wall is good for relieving stress.”

Thom laughed, his dimple flashing. “Well, we’ve still got three walls to go, so you’ll be very chilled by the time we’re done.”

“It would go quicker if you gave me a crowbar,” Poppy said, dropping to sit on the top step. Thom followed her down and stretched out his long legs.