She sounded confused, and Last was too tired to explain. “All right. Do you like bacon, Last?”
“I would really like an aspirin, ma’am,” he said, before saying, “Timber!” and crashing face-first into the elderly dog’s pillow.
“That’s right, Chester, you take good care of him,” Last heard Esme’s father say before he finally gave up to the sleep that wanted to claim him. He had to. He’d fallen into the circus of hell, and clearly there would be no rescue or safety net for this cowboy.
ESME STARED DOWN at Last, not quite sure what to do with him. Her parents had gone to bed. The children were tucked in. Chester had given up the sofa to the flailing cowboy. She folded her arms, wondering why Last was so dead set against seeing a doctor. She was pretty certain he needed one, the big goon.
Bending down to get close to his face, she touched his forehead. “That’s what you get for trying to save everything, you big silly.”
He didn’t move. Poppy studied his face, glad to be able to do it when he wasn’t piercing her with those watchful eyes of his. “Maybe you have a record,” she said, moving his hair away from his face. “That would be one reason you wouldn’t want to be seen. Which would also make you bad for me. Worse than you already are.”
A steel hand reached out, grabbing her wrist. “I have no record,” Last said. “I am very good for you, and you should be grateful.”
To her shock, he pulled her on top of him. She was so surprised she stared down at him, an inch from his face.
“Now let’s see who’s bad for whom,” he said, kissing her deeply, his hands framing her face as he held her captive. Over and over he kissed her, his lips firm and demanding and so practiced that she gave herself over to the wonderful feeling of being kissed by this stranger who didn’t wear fur or a too-tall hat. His hands sneaked down to her bottom, slipping into the pockets of the clam diggers she wore, holding her tightly against him.
“I think you’re bad for me,” he said. “I’m certain of it.”
“I think you’re worse,” she told him, holding his face so that she could kiss him some more. Good heavens, a woman should be kissed like this at least once a week! It was more than magic; she felt sprinkles and stardust and all the accoutrements of the fairy-tale land she’d spoken of but never experienced.
“I may be worse, but your kisses make me feel better than an aspirin.” He rolled her beneath him. “Make me feel even better.”
He was making her feel more than she ever had, so Poppy complied, winding her arms around him as he lay full-length against her. There was hardness against her from top to bottom and something much more in the middle, making her eyes water from the pleasure of knowing that this man wanted her that way.
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