Poppy: Houses are emotional to me. Every corner has a memory. Every beam has a heartbeat. This one, especially. It’s not just steel and glass. It’s alive. And I think they deserve to be loved.
Producer: They deserve to be loved. What about you, Poppy? Do you deserve to be loved?
Poppy: Love is something you prove yourself worthy of. But seeing Stark House, how it holds itself together through storms and sunshine, maybe love isn’t about proving anything. Maybe it’s just giving it. And hoping it comes back.
Producer: So, maybe you can let yourself receive it, too?
Poppy: Can we go back to talking about houses?
9
Decker watched Poppy work her way down the hallway, picking up debris and Sheetrock panels as she went. Every time she bent over to stack the debris in an orderly pile he couldn’t help but drool over the magnificent sight.
Since their moment in the kitchen yesterday she’d been avoiding him. Well, as much as one could avoid someone while trapped in a couple thousand square feet with each other. Not only could he hear her breathing at night, but he could also smell her tempting scent of citrus and sunshine every time she so much as turned over in bed, creating images of what she slept in.
He was hoping it was nothing but sheets and the warm night’s air.
Then there was the way those jeans hugged her body, so tight he should be able to see her panty line. But there wasn’t one. Which meant one of two things: Either she was wearing a G-string or she’d opted to go commando. The first was tempting as hell, the second piqued his interest even more.
Could Little Miss Sunshine have a wild side?
He wanted—scratch that—neededto know. Just like he needed to know how she’d feel about him sliding his hands down her backside and cupping her perfectly rounded cheeks to find out.
“Still hard at work, I see?” he asked, and she didn’t even flinch, just went about her business, meaning she was aware of his presence—just ignoring him. Did she know he was thinking about her underwear? Or lack thereof?
He rested a shoulder against the wall. “Do you ever stop to take a breath?”
“Hard at work because there’s work to be done.”
“You might want to leave something for the rest of us,” he joked. “You’ll make us come off as slackers.”
She looked up at him with genuine confusion in her eyes. “That’s not what I’m doing.” There was so much sincerity and hurt in her expression he wanted to soothe her. “I just wanted to make it easy for us to take it to the dumpster tomorrow morning.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just joking.” By the way she nibbled her lower lip, she didn’t believe him. “The crew went home hours ago. It’s nearly nine. When was the last time you ate?”
She opened her mouth to answer, then shook her head. “I can’t remember.”
“Why don’t we order some takeout?”
She looked at him strangely, as if the idea of him wanting to take care of her was a foreign concept. Heartbreaking rumors had flown around the crew about Poppy and her father, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. He wanted to hear it from her. So he’d wait patiently until she felt comfortable enough to share. The idea of her thinking she was anything but perfect made his fists clench.
“Pizza, Chinese, or Indian?”
Her stomach growled. “Indian sounds amazing. But I need to get this done first or it will keep me up all night.”
“Well, four hands are better than two. So how about we place an order, and while we wait I’ll help you organize the garbage.”
“Are you poking fun at me for my neat freak side?”
He bit back a grin. “I’m poking fun at you because you like things so orderly.”
“I work better when I wake up to a clean slate.”
“Do you like anything messy?”
She rolled her eyes. “Will you stop with the flirting?”
He pressed off the wall and stalked toward her until they were toe to toe. “Angel, when I’m flirting, you’ll know. This is just me being charming.”
