Stranded (3 page)

             
His eyes popped open and focused on hers. “But I didn’t,” he said flatly.

             
“But you could have,” she snarled, narrowing her eyes on him. He wasn’t intimidated in the least.

             
“But. I Didn’t,” he growled, punctuating each word.

             
“I should call the police,” Poppy said, turning to leave. If his car was in a ditch somewhere, someone was likely to come across it and worry when they didn’t find the driver. What if he had a family waiting for him at home? The idea of a beautiful woman waiting for him, maybe a couple of kids too, didn’t sit well with her for some reason, but she shrugged it off, reminding herself just how little she actually knew about this man.

             
“Wait a minute.” He caught her wrist and tugged her back in such a way that it unbalanced her, and as her body whirled back around, Poppy’s ankle twisted and she lost her footing. With her wrist still held firmly in his grip and her slow reflexes, neither of them was able to stop her from falling. Wide eyes locked on one another, and the next thing she knew, water splashed up around her, crashing over the edge of the tub, soaking her hair and clothes and stinging her eyes.

             
Poppy’s head reeled. The first thing she realized was that she was wet. The second was that she was pressed against something warm and firm. Blinking rapidly, the first thing her eyes encountered was the smooth tanned skin of the man’s chest, then, traveling down the landscape, she found his arms wrapped around her waist. Turning her face up, their eyes met and Poppy felt her heart skip a beat. From this angle she could see he had a small dimple in his chin, his bottom lip, which had a small split running down the center—she assumed from the accident—looked even fuller than she remembered it, and his eyes were so black the pupil got lost in them.

             
Returning to his lips, she surprised herself as the strong desire to feel his mouth against hers hit her. It was like a match had been struck, and then tossed into a pool of gasoline. Heat pooled in her belly and she felt herself grow damp, despite already being submerged in water.

             
Expression twisting into a grimace he said, “You’re elbow is crushing my balls.”

His strained voice was like a bucket of ice water to her loins.

“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”

With his help, Poppy was able to push herself out of the tub and to her feet. There was water everywhere. Grabbing a towel from the basket she kept beside the sink, she sopped up as much
of it as she could, then laid another out so he wouldn’t slip when he got out of the tub later. Embarrassment was riding her hard—a fact that was only exasperated by Bo, who stood in the doorway staring back at her with accusation in his soulful brown eyes—but she couldn’t help looking back at the man. He was staring. Looking down at herself, she realized the water had caused her nightgown to go almost completely sheer, clinging to every curve and leaving nothing to the imagination. No wonder he and Bo were fixated on her. She might as well be naked! Immediately she snagged the towel she had hung for him off the rack, and wrapped it around herself.

Facing him, her chin held high, she managed to force out a few words. “I’m thinking you can wash yourself, correct?”

She crossed her fingers that he could, because she was so not up for that task. With the current state of her emotions, she might end up molesting the man. Not that he would mind necessarily. Men seemed to take it wherever they could get it, but Poppy was not a one night stand kind of girl. She needed a connection to be intimate with someone. Not that her body seemed to be able to tell the difference. Her panties were soaked through, and it had nothing to do with the water and everything to do with the sight he presented—a strong virile man with enough confidence to fill a room.

How long had it been since she’d had sex?

Too long, but she wasn’t about to start by sleeping with the first stranger to stumble in off the street. Poppy had standards. It was just unlucky for her that this man appeared to fit her standards to a T.

“I can handle it,” the man said as he turned his head away and slid deeper into the water.

Nodding almost imperceptibly, Poppy stepped closer to the door, disappointment swamping her. She wasn’t sure why, but his rejection stung. “Okay. I’ll be down the hall if you need anything.” She hadn’t taken more than a step outside the bathroom when his throaty voice called out to her.

“Do you still want to know my name?”

Poppy’s heart rate spiked as she slowly pivoted to face him. “Alright.”

“It’s Felix. Felix Sinclair.”

Felix
. Poppy rolled it around in her head a while. It was a nice name, something you didn’t hear very often, and it suited him. She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Felix Sinclair. I’m Poppy.”

He answered with a subtle smile of his own, then closed his eyes again and tilted his head back to rest. Pulling the door closed behind her, Poppy snapped her fingers for Bo to follow, then  crossed the hall to her room, feeling somewhat unnerved at the way she was reacting to this strange man who had stumbled into her home and stolen the very breath from her lungs.

Maybe he wasn’t a murderer, but he there was no doubt in her mind that Felix Sinclair was dangerous for her health.

Bo curled up on his pallet in the corner while she changed into a pair of fresh pajamas. As Poppy tugged the nightshirt over her head she thought, oh yes, she was in trouble. When she climbed into bed and closed her eyes, flashes of naked flesh and dark, sinful eyes played behind her closed lids, lighting her body on fire. 

4

Felix
.

Even the name made her insides quiver.

Poppy was lying on the bed, waiting for Felix to get done with his bath. She left the door open a crack so she would hear him when he came out. When he was finished, she planned on personally handing him the phone so he could make whatever calls he needed to make and get out of there. She just wasn’t ready for the kind of distraction he caused her. It was bad enough she found him attractive, but having a naked
attractive
man in her home was just asking for trouble.

The minutes ticked by painfully slow, and Poppy was hyper aware of every muted splash of water
coming from behind the closed door just a few feet away. She pictured Felix, his muscled arms glistening with water, his intense gaze roving over every inch of her body. His hands were strong with long, thick fingers, and she imagined him running them over her body, tunneling beneath the oversized flannel shirt to caress the sensitive skin on her thighs, her stomach and higher.

Shifting
restlessly beneath the blankets, Poppy sighed longingly. She wasn’t new to entertaining fantasies in her head. In fact, she did it almost every night when she curled up with her romance novels, but this was different. It felt almost wrong to be having fantasy sex with a man she didn’t know, who was in the next room. But she couldn’t stop the images from assaulting her. Felix running his smooth, firm lips across her breasts, sucking first one taught peak into his mouth, then the other. Felix smoothing his hands up her calf to the apex of her thighs, teasing her sensitive folds until he finally plunged a finger deep inside causing her to cry out from the pleasure. She let her own fingers wander south, until they slipped past the silky panties and found her swollen nub. The first touch made her gasp and as her fingers found a rhythm guaranteed to bring her to completion, she bit down on her bottom lip and let the sensations wash over her.

Poppy was fully into her fantasy, her mind weaving a vivid picture of Felix between her thighs,
thrusting long and hard, when she heard the sound of a throat clearing.

Yanking her hand from beneath the blankets, Poppy jolted upright, causing her head to spin
and stars to dance across her vision. She looked to the doorway to find Felix standing there, a towel wrapped around his narrow hips, tiny water droplets kissing his shoulders and chest. His wet hair was slicked back off his forehead, his eyes were narrowed dangerously on her, and she noted that his color and strength seemed to have returned. 

“Um,” Poppy said nervously. How much had he seen? She could still feel a flush heating her skin and it was only growing hotter at the thought that he might have caught her in the middle of a very private moment. “Do you need something?”

Shaking his head, he eyed her suspiciously and one of his brows arched up. “I heard you call my name.”

She felt her cheeks flame red. Had she really called his name out loud? Lord, shoot her now. She wasn’t sure she could handle the embarrassment.

It was obvious to Poppy, as she watched Felix lean back against the door jamb, crossing his arms over his broad chest in a way that made the muscles appear larger, that he wanted her to fill in the blanks, and he wasn’t leaving until she did.

Like hell she would. No way would she tell him that he had played the starring role in her sexual
fantasy. She had to come up with something plausible for why she would call his name, but what?

When an idea sparked, she jumped on it, and beamed up at him. “I was just going to ask you if you wanted me to throw your clothes in the dryer. Otherwise, I’m afraid you’ll be stuck wearing a towel.
Unless you’re not opposed to wearing a pink robe?”

She chewed her lip nervously while Felix fixed her with his intense
gaze. She knew he was picking through her explanation, trying to find the holes, but in the end, he just shook his head again.

“No, they’re dry clean only.”

Poppy frowned. She didn’t own a single article of clothing that required dry cleaning. He must be well-off, she thought, which made her slightly more uncomfortable. She liked playing on even ground and now she just felt…well, poor. Her eyes darted around the room to the chipped paint on the baseboards, the used furniture and the creaking floorboards stained in places from water or animals, she didn’t know which. She wondered what kind of place he lived in, and what he must think of hers. Why should she even care? It wasn’t like she needed to impress the man. He was the one who needed her help. If he didn’t like her home, then he should have picked another house to squat in until help arrived.

But she did care, and that bothered her.

“Well, I can hang them up then. Maybe in front of the heater so they’ll at least dry faster?” she asked, feeling smaller now in his presence.

The look on his face said that he didn’t much like that idea either, but he had little choice if he didn’t want to spend the rest of the night in a towel.

“I guess that would be fine,” he said sternly, but made no moves to leave.

Silence reigned, and Poppy didn’t think she would last another minute under his scrutiny, so she popped out of bed and strode to the door. “I’ll get to it then,” she said, intending to squeeze past his large frame, but Felix wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easily.

Snagging her by the arm, he wheeled her back around to face him. The abrupt shift in direction and the limited space caused Poppy to crash into his chest. Her head snapped up and her mouth flew open, preparing to rip his head off for his manhandling ways, when she caught the smoldering look in his eyes.

“Now why don’t you tell me why you really called my
name.” His voice held a note of challenge and his eyes bore into hers, daring her to lie.

Well, she
could
lie. She
would
lie. No way was she confessing anything to him. Jutting out her chin, she said, “I told you. I needed to know what you wanted me to do with your clothes.”

A sly grin split his lips. “Really?” he drawled, his grip on her upper arm growing firmer. He tugged
her closer, putting her chest flush against his own, and snaked his free arm around her waist to hold her in place. Dipping his head until his lips grazed her ear, he whispered, “Is that why you were touching yourself?”

Poppy balked at his words. Pushing against his chest, she tried to free herself, but he was stronger than she was and his grip held firm. Finally, she gave up the struggle and sliced him with a searing look. “You’re a pig,” she gritted through her teeth.

He went on as if she hadn’t even spoken. “Tell me, Poppy,” her name on his lips was a sensual promise, “do you always get wet when you think about laundry?”

She slapped him.
Hard. It wasn’t even a thought, but the embarrassment was so thick, it clouded her judgment and she lashed out.

She pulled her hand back immediately; shocked that she had hit him. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, fear coursing through her veins. If this guy really was a psycho, hitting him might just be the spark he needed to finally kill her.

Anger flashed in those dark depths as Felix studied her, his jaw ticking wildly. She thought he was going to yell at her, but instead he bent down, until they were nose to nose and looked her straight in the eyes.

“Do I frighten you, Poppy?”