a glossy magazine and opened it. ‘That’s the last kiss, proper or not, you’ll ever get from me.’
Orsino stretched stiff legs. He should rest on the king-size bed in the plane’s suite. He ached all over and his head throbbed with a gentle pulse of pain. If Amindra were here she’d fuss over him with that motherly brusqueness he’d found so unaccountably appealing.
He rubbed his jaw, feeling the scratch on his palm.
He’d overestimated his strength in leaving the hospital. His mouth turned down. His pride had almost resulted in a fall when he’d lost the walking stick. Luckily Poppy had been there to save him.
Poppy. He turned to where she slumped in the massive armchair, the magazine she’d been reading on the floor at her feet as she slept. A skein ofwavy dark hair trailed tantalisingly down over her shoulder.
That’s the last kiss, proper or not, you’ll ever get from me.
She hadn’t even looked at him when she said it, as if his presence didn’t disturb her in the least.
That was bad enough. Even worse was the fact all he could think of was stealing a kiss from her that was improper in every way. A kiss that would lead to hot, hungry, raunchy sex. Sex with a kick to it.
Hell!
He scraped his hand over his face.
A week ago he’d thought himself dying. A couple of days ago he’d felt exposed, exhausted,
mortal
in a way he never had before. It wasn’t till you faced death head-on that you valued life as you should.
Now he was weary, bleary-eyed, fighting to keep control of a body that wanted to hibernate till the pain passed, yet his libido had roared into full-blooded life.
One taste of Poppy did that.
Orsino shut his eyes, cursing under his breath.
How could he be so needy?
How could he want her again, knowing what she was?
Talk about being hoist with his own petard! He’d brought this on himself.
He’d planned to exact a little revenge and in the process assure himself she was out of his systemfor good. Instead he discovered he craved her as strongly as he had when their marriage meant something.
Then he’d never been able to get enough of her.
Orsino tried to tell himself this was the predictable result of sexual abstinence but it didn’t work. He’d merely touched Poppy’s lips, clamped his hand in her hair and she’d undone him.
What would it be like to kiss her properly? To lose himself in the hot warmth of her mouth, let his hands loose on that svelte body he knew was strong and supple and indescribably sexy. A body that came alive like kindling to flame at his touch.
Would it still?
His breath hitched as he imagined Poppy aroused and needy, begging him for release. Her hands boldly stroking, her mouth poutingly soft and inviting.
He rubbed a hand around the back of his neck, as if he could rub away the prickle of heat building there. Self-disgust filled him. He should be able to turn his back on her as easily as if she didn’t exist.
Except turning his back on Poppy had never been easy, even when it had been a matter of survival.
Orsino grimaced. His body was telling him something so obvious he couldn’t avoid it any longer.
How long since he’d been aroused by the meretouch of a woman? How long since he’d wanted one like this?
For too long he’d sublimated desire because it reminded him of his weakness for Poppy Graham. Because inevitably they were her dark violet eyes that swam in his brain when arousal stirred, her throaty mews of pleasure he heard when he woke from an erotic dream.
He’d told himself he’d left her behind the night he walked out of their London apartment, but he’d been mistaken. Buried in ice and rock, facing his own extinction, he’d realised there was still something between them. And now he knew what it was.
Sex. Animal attraction. Desire.
Orsino wanted her as he hadn’t wanted in so long it didn’t bear thinking about.
His good hand gripped the leather chair, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself.
Logic said it was an
Orsino stretched stiff legs. He should rest on the king-size bed in the plane’s suite. He ached all over and his head throbbed with a gentle pulse of pain. If Amindra were here she’d fuss over him with that motherly brusqueness he’d found so unaccountably appealing.
He rubbed his jaw, feeling the scratch on his palm.
He’d overestimated his strength in leaving the hospital. His mouth turned down. His pride had almost resulted in a fall when he’d lost the walking stick. Luckily Poppy had been there to save him.
Poppy. He turned to where she slumped in the massive armchair, the magazine she’d been reading on the floor at her feet as she slept. A skein ofwavy dark hair trailed tantalisingly down over her shoulder.
That’s the last kiss, proper or not, you’ll ever get from me.
She hadn’t even looked at him when she said it, as if his presence didn’t disturb her in the least.
That was bad enough. Even worse was the fact all he could think of was stealing a kiss from her that was improper in every way. A kiss that would lead to hot, hungry, raunchy sex. Sex with a kick to it.
Hell!
He scraped his hand over his face.
A week ago he’d thought himself dying. A couple of days ago he’d felt exposed, exhausted,
mortal
in a way he never had before. It wasn’t till you faced death head-on that you valued life as you should.
Now he was weary, bleary-eyed, fighting to keep control of a body that wanted to hibernate till the pain passed, yet his libido had roared into full-blooded life.
One taste of Poppy did that.
Orsino shut his eyes, cursing under his breath.
How could he be so needy?
How could he want her again, knowing what she was?
Talk about being hoist with his own petard! He’d brought this on himself.
He’d planned to exact a little revenge and in the process assure himself she was out of his systemfor good. Instead he discovered he craved her as strongly as he had when their marriage meant something.
Then he’d never been able to get enough of her.
Orsino tried to tell himself this was the predictable result of sexual abstinence but it didn’t work. He’d merely touched Poppy’s lips, clamped his hand in her hair and she’d undone him.
What would it be like to kiss her properly? To lose himself in the hot warmth of her mouth, let his hands loose on that svelte body he knew was strong and supple and indescribably sexy. A body that came alive like kindling to flame at his touch.
Would it still?
His breath hitched as he imagined Poppy aroused and needy, begging him for release. Her hands boldly stroking, her mouth poutingly soft and inviting.
He rubbed a hand around the back of his neck, as if he could rub away the prickle of heat building there. Self-disgust filled him. He should be able to turn his back on her as easily as if she didn’t exist.
Except turning his back on Poppy had never been easy, even when it had been a matter of survival.
Orsino grimaced. His body was telling him something so obvious he couldn’t avoid it any longer.
How long since he’d been aroused by the meretouch of a woman? How long since he’d wanted one like this?
For too long he’d sublimated desire because it reminded him of his weakness for Poppy Graham. Because inevitably they were her dark violet eyes that swam in his brain when arousal stirred, her throaty mews of pleasure he heard when he woke from an erotic dream.
He’d told himself he’d left her behind the night he walked out of their London apartment, but he’d been mistaken. Buried in ice and rock, facing his own extinction, he’d realised there was still something between them. And now he knew what it was.
Sex. Animal attraction. Desire.
Orsino wanted her as he hadn’t wanted in so long it didn’t bear thinking about.
His good hand gripped the leather chair, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself.
Logic said it was an
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