Ma’s book rests on the arm of the sofa and a blanket, and it’s like she’s with us. She places the wine on the coffee table, then picks up the book. “I guess this is your mother’s. I’m sorry. I’ll put it back.”
She rushes over to the bookcase, slotting it back into the slot where it came from.
“Poppy. You don’t have to be sorry.” I take the book back out. My fingers flick through the pages as if it holds Ma’s scent, but it’s Poppy’s scent I can smell. “These books were made to be enjoyed, and you’re the first person to look at them in thirty years.”
I press my lips against her forehead, reassuring her with my kiss. “Please. Ma would want you to enjoy these along with everything else here.” I hand the book back to her. “She would have liked you.”
She looks up at me with watery eyes. “How do you know?”
“Because I like you, and you make me want to be a better man.” My chest swells. A tear clings to her lashes like a pearl. When she smiles, pushing her cheeks up, it drips down her face, and I wipe it away.
She leans into my palm, just like she did earlier, and all the unspoken words clog in the back of my throat. Instead of speaking, I turn on the old record player that was my old man’s. Billy Joel’s ‘Just the Way You Are’ plays. I take the book from her and drop it on the sofa where it was, then nuzzle into her neck, kissing and licking just below her ear.
A moan vibrates from her mouth. “Dom, that’s nice.”
“Nice?” I don’t normally do nice, but with her I can do nice if that’s what she wants. “You like it nice, little fox?” I bring my lips back to her face, my cock thickening fast.
“Nice and slow.” Her eyes flick to mine as she chews on her bottom lip, making it match the colour of her hair.
“I can do nice and slow.” My tongue runs along my lips before meeting hers and pushing into her mouth. She lets me dominate, swirling my tongue around hers and tasting her just like I did before, but only this time I’m savouring every moment.
“Are we dancing now?” With her bundled in my arms, I didn’t realise we were swaying to the music.
“You know, those dance schools might not have wanted a full figured woman for a dancer, but their loss is my gain, and you owe me a private dance, Red. One that doesn’t involve tying me up, then disappearing.”
She smiles, biting her lip again. “Sorry about that. I thought you were kidnapping me.”
“I was. Still am.”
Her eyes roll. “I don’t dance. Please don’t ask me to.”
“You were doing a pretty good job of it before.”
“Only to escape. I—” She looks down. A shyness that I haven’t seen before taking over.
“Hey.” I lift her chin, pulling her gaze back to mine. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“He would always ask me to dance. The copper, my ex. And Malcolm.”
My jaw tightens. My Poppy has never looked more frail. She’s a wildflower on the side of a cliff top, taking a beating from all that life’s thrown her way. All I want to do is cover her and protect her from the elements, placing her inside a glass casing.
Her lip trembles. I hold her face in my palms. “It just tainted my love of dancing.”
There’s a twitch in my lip. Every muscle on fire wanting to tear down anyone who laid eyes on her and made her feel this way. My thumbs stroke her cheeks. “You never have to dance again for anyone, not even me. But did any of those guys make you feel like I do?” I press my lips to her nose, then pepper her face with kisses, hoping to erase any thoughts of anyone else but me.
She shakes her head. “No. I felt nothing for them.”
“So when you danced for me before in the house and in the club, were you thinking of them or me?”
“You.”
The large front bay window gives a perfect view of the lake. The moonlight bouncing off the water looks majestic and here in this moment with my woman, it’s magical.
My heart races each time I gaze into her luscious eyes, as green as the fertile land surrounding us. A wild poppy that’s blown far from home, but she can put her roots down here with me. I’ll see her flourish and watch her belly grow with our kid, and we can make a home here.
The Righteous Brothers, ‘Unchained Melody’ plays. One of my mother’s favourite songs. I close the small distance between us, holding her against my chest as we sway to the music. The hairs prickle on the back of my neck and a lump forms in my throat, clogging the words I want to speak.
She worries her plump bottom lip between her teeth, and I resist the urge to take it between mine. “Are you going to get a pottery wheel going too, like in the movie?” A smile pushes her rosy cheeks up.
