stairs. “Didn’t you see the way she was looking at us?” She was fuming.
He caught sight of the layers of petticoat beneath the satin skirt. And couldn’t help wondering what was beneath that.
Casually, he caught up with her in the short hall that ran the length of the second floor of the bungalow. “Like a social worker doing her job?”
Poppy stormed into the bedroom, still in her stocking feet. Reaching behind her for the zipper, she pouted. “She thinks our marriage is a sham.”
Trace stepped in to gallantly unhook the fastening at the nape of her gown. Once that was free, the zipper came down easily. “Why?” he countered huskily. “Because she obviously figured out you and I didn’t consummate our marriage last night?”
She shivered when his fingertips grazed her bare skin. “Please don’t say it that way.”
Hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. “Since when have we parsed words or dealt with something other than the truth?”
Poppy raked her teeth across the delectable plumpness of her lower lip. “Never.”
“So what’s the problem, then?”
She stared at the open collar of his shirt. “The fact we didn’t make love makes us—our whole union—look suspect.”
“Well, then,” Trace drawled, taking her in his arms and doing what he should have done the night before, would have done if she hadn’t been so skittish and he hadn’t been so damned jet-lagged. “There is only one way to fix that.”
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