Well. That’s the first thing that’s gone right today,Poppy thought, wiggling her cold toes, luxuriating in the softness of the slippers.
Following the instructions on her phone, she went down the corridor, distantly noticing how stunningly beautiful all the wooden paneling and soft, fluffy rugs were, and began the arduous task of hauling her suitcase up the stairs. She was so tired that she was tempted to just leave it down here and then go crash on her bed, but she knew she’d regret it in the morning.
Bumping and thumping her way to the top, she managed not to do any damage to the stairs with her admittedly somewhatoverly large suitcase, and then opened the door to her room, practically stumbling over the threshold.
Oh God. Finally. Oh God, I’m so tired.
She flopped down into the first chair she came to, conveniently located right by the door, as if the owners of the B&B had beenexpectingher to come staggering in completely exhausted. Almost immediately she realized that that meant she would have to stand back up in order to go anywhere, but, well, maybe she’d just slither down from the chair to sleep on the floor tonight. The rug certainlylookedcomfy enough.
Her stomach, on the other hand, had other plans, as it let out an agonized series of rumbles. Poppy supposed that ithadbeen sorely neglected.
For a few moments, she wondered if she could sleep through it – but no, her stomach would not be pacified. It knew what it wanted, and it was incredibly insistent.
Rising with a groan, Poppy stumbled over to what she assumed was the kitchen door. Just a little bite to eat, and then she was going to sleep for the next twelve hours.
Unlocking the door, she peered into the next room…
And straight at the jacked, hunky,shirtlessguy who was sprawled with artless grace on a dining chair, gnawing at the chicken drumstick he held in one hand while madly scribbling in a notebook with the other.
Yowza. Hot a whattie! I mean – what a hottie!
Poppy was suddenly very,verygrateful that she wasn’t drinking overpriced, watered-down pina coladas next to some stupid overcrowded pool.
She stared, unable to help herself. Even the black-framed glasses perched on his nose somehow just added to the appeal.Intellectual hunkwas a highly underrated category, as far as she was concerned. The way his light brown, slightly curled hair seemed to hang in front of the glasses as he wrote conjured acertain mystique – as if some nineteenth-century playwright had decided that instead of dying of consumption, he was going to hit the gym instead.
Who writes things by hand in this day and age?she thought inanely, while her higher brain functions did a reboot. If she opened her mouth now, the only words that would come out would besexy man in kitchen, caveman-style, and nobody needed that.
Instead she just watched, dumbstruck, as the hot man continued to hastily jot down his notes, chewing his chicken with great intensity. He paused for a moment to stare at the drumstick as if he was trying to discern the secrets of the universe within its half-devoured depths, before returning to his fevered scribblings.
Maybe he’s writing the next great romance novel,her mind supplied unhelpfully, and a helpless giggle slipped out before she could stop herself.
Uh-oh. Big mistake.
She watched, eyes wide, as the man’s head snapped up, eyes even wider. His dark,darkeyes. So dark that they seemed to be black, bottomless and eternal. They were almost hypnotic.
Their gazes locked.
The pen fell from his lax fingers; the drumstick almost shared the same fate, though he managed to scrabble and catch it before it hit the table, somehow all without breaking eye contact with her.
Poppy didn’t break eye contact with him, either – well, except for thebriefestof glances down at his gloriously sculpted pecs, and then farther down still, to his strangely incongruous elephant-patterned pajama pants. But then they snapped right back up to his face. His handsome, gorgeous face… marred only slightly by the tiny piece of chicken caught on his lip.
No. Not marred. Improved. I want to eat it right off him.
Time seemed to stand still, belied only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner and the relentless buzzing of her heart. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like an absolute lifetime.
She could’ve just gazed into those eyes forever, but she supposed that eventually something would have to shatter the bizarre impasse… and in the end, it came when he pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes a bit, before they fixed on her again.
Poppy deflated a little.
Was he just staring at me because he couldn’t focus on me at this distance with his glasses on? Well, that’s a bit of a letdown. To put it mildly.
But no, he was still staring at her. Although he may have just been doing it because she had barged in on his shirtless chicken-eating time, which, she supposed, was fair enough.
Strangely enough, he now looked oddly like he was trying to melt into the earth. Which was laughable, because there was no way that a guy likethatcould ever just blend into the background. But he was definitely giving off vibes ofDon’t look at me, nothing to see here.
Which was patently untrue, because there wasplentyto see here.
Her eyes darted back down to the beautifully bronzed skin of his torso, before she painfully dragged them up again.
