and homeless by the age of sixteen, he was used to travelling, liked the challenge of working in different countries, of winning the hearts and loyalty of the Parisians and the Dutch. Next stop, the States, and he’d be a success there, too. That would show everyone who’d ever doubted him.
But despite what he’d said and what he’d tried to convince himself to believe, he’d really enjoyed that kiss. The cheeky glimpse of Poppy’s half-naked body bathed in moonlight hadn’t been half bad either. Which, hands on heart, had not been his fault. She’d said she was ready, when in reality her silky top hadn’t quite covered everything it needed to. He’d turned away … too late.
Hell. He closed his eyes briefly at the mental image; she was definitely all woman. And off every limit he had. So the fact his brain kept wandering back to those scenes last night—the kiss, her body, her smell, even her pyjamas—was very inconvenient.
He added fast-track the renovations to his to-do list. He could control his libido, but he couldn’t guarantee for how long, so the sooner he was out of that flat, the better. Stupid enough to get in any way involved with a woman, doubly so to get carried away with a woman he had too much history with. That could get all kinds of messy.
Isaac subscribed to the ‘no promises, no commitment, no heartbreak’ school of relationships. Easy. In his bitter experience commitment usually lasted just until someone better, richer, younger came along, leaving chaos and hurt in the slipstream. He didn’t need any of that.
The doorbell pinged behind him as someone entered along with the cold December wind-chill factor. Women’s voices. His gut pinged, too, as his hand froze, coffee cup halfway between the table and his mouth. Izzy’s northern-infused accent. Poppy’s hesitant laughter.
So much for avoiding her.
Gulping the too-hot coffee and almost suffering third-degree burns in the process, he put his cup on the table, tugged up his coat collar around his ears, focused on his phone and concentrated on trying to be incognito. Plan A: when they started to order at the counter he’d slip out unnoticed.
‘Isaac! Hello.’ Izzy dropped a kiss on his cheek, then shoved a stray lock of short blond hair behind her ear, beaming. He’d met a lot of Poppy’s friends over the years, as part of a peripheral group that tagged along whenever Poppy’s brother, Alex, was home on leave, but never had he envisaged living with any of them. Strange how life worked out. ‘Long time no see. Where’ve you been?’
‘Hi, Izzy. Hello, Poppy. I was in Europe for a while sussing out some bar venues. We’ve just opened one in Bastille and we’ve another planned for Amsterdam.’ He tried to focus on Izzy, but his eyes kept drifting towards the woman he’d spent the night with. She refused to meet his gaze, keeping her focus on the counter ahead, then on Izzy, a small polite wave to Marco. Scraping his chair back, Isaac lifted his plastic carrier. ‘I got some traps. I’ll head upstairs now and set them up. Do you have any peanut butter?’
Finally Poppy looked up at him, her make-up-free cheeks pinking. Instead of her regulation work ponytail her hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders, which normally would have made her look younger, if it hadn’t been for the purple shadows under her eyes.
She pulled a thick cream cardigan around her uptight shoulders and stamped black suede boots on the tiles. Her mouth had formed a grim line. Clearly the hangover still hung.
Even so, she still looked breathtaking. He’d never really thought of her like that until yesterday. But breathtaking was the only way to describe her. Yeah … well, she’d certainly taken his breath away with that surprise kiss last night. As she spoke he wondered what could happen next time, if he left his principles at the bedroom door. Which was never going to happen. Because he would never let them get into that situation again.
She frowned. ‘I thought mice ate cheese.’
‘The guy in the market said to use peanut butter—apparently they love it. If we don’t have any I’ll head to the shop and get some.’
‘No. There’s some in the cupboard by the fridge.’ She peered up at him. ‘Smooth.’
‘Thanks. I like to think so.’ He grinned.
‘Yeah, Mr Big Shot, whatever. I was talking about the peanut butter, not you.’ She tutted, her shoulders dropping a little as her eyebrows rose. ‘You definitely fall in the crunchy camp.’
‘Oh, and now I’m mortally wounded.’ Still, it was good to have her at least being able to look at him. Things could get weird in the flat if they couldn’t speak to each other. ‘Well, I’ve got to set these traps then get back to work … Oh, talking of … the private room’s free at Blue on Friday for your work get-together if you still want it. Do you need to come and view it?’
‘No, I don’t think—’ She looked off-balance and not particularly thrilled at having this conversation.
‘Or are you fine taking my word for it?’ He could give them both a get-out if he sorted it all here. Then he could head off to his sanctuary and work out what the hell was going on in his head. Or at the very least try and get her out of it. ‘How many will be coming? Do you need food? I can get the chef to make up a specials menu for you all.’
‘I think there’s probably about twenty of us, including some spouses and partners.’ She matched his smile. Not too friendly. ‘I’m sure the regular menu will be fine.’
Good, no need to spend any more time with her than necessary. ‘Great. I’ll see you later. Some time. I’m kind of busy at the bar so I might not be around much.’
Way to go—Poppy’s whole demeanour seemed to brighten. ‘Oh—okay.’
‘Wait. Isaac?’ Izzy interrupted and his optimism floundered. ‘Maybe Poppy and I should come over this afternoon. I’d love to see your new bar. I’m scouting out places for the wedding reception. And Poppy? How can you organise a party without checking out the venue first?’
‘Oh, I trust Isaac,’ she said in a voice that conveyed the opposite. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’
Izzy looked at her friend with growing incredulity. ‘It’s a cocktail bar, right? And you’re on a day off?’
Poppy gave a weak shrug. ‘Yes. Actually, just for a change I have some time off. And I was hanging out for a coffee. You know Marco makes a mean espresso.’
‘Forget the coffee. What are we waiting for? Blue awaits. Come on, bride-to-be’s prerogative.’ Blissfully ignorant of the awkwardness in the room as she rode her fluffy happy wedding cloud, Izzy smiled. ‘A cocktail will be fun. Happy hour for mates, okay, Isaac?’
Looked as if he had no choice.
Looked as if none of them had a choice. The bride-to-be certainly did hold all the cards.
Poppy shook her head as she wiggled out of Izzy’s hold and held up her hands. ‘No, I’m sorry, not today, we can go to Blue some other time. Come along with us on Friday if you want—there’ll be quite a crowd. But as from today I’m officially on the wagon. I’m never drinking again.’
‘Why ever not?’ Izzy asked. ‘It’s Christmas time. We have to drink and be merry. It’s the rule.’
‘I had too much last night. You know me, I’m a very cheap date and rubbish at holding my booze.’
