He shot up straight when he saw that it was her, for some reason already fully dressed in her riding clothes and here in his room. “Fucking Merlin, Poppy,” Kristoffer hissed at her, the erratic thump of his pulse making him forget his polite-society-filter for crassness entirely. He peered at her for another moment in complete dumbfounded shock – and then, when the worst of the shock was over, had to admit he was almost amused by the strange juxtaposition of apology in her tone and the absolute shamelessness of her actions.
Kristoffer threw off the covers and slid out of bed, a little sheepish, himself, about having to pad across the room in his pyjamas. He ran a hand through his hair as if that would make it any less tousled, and went, blearily, for the chest of drawers across from where she was still standing by the door. He began to rummage for a shirt and trousers and whatnot; but his mind was hardly concentrated on that dull endeavour, and his head kept turning over his shoulder in curious looks at her.
“No, for some reason I wasn’t expecting to be held to ransom first thing in the morning,” Kris said, when a measure of his wits and usual snideness had finally returned to him. He didn’t feel the need to add the (...well, obvious) fact that Poppy Dashwood was about the most enticing prospect he could imagine for a spontaneous intrusion or apparent abduction. “So,” he drawled, however, because she had incited this and caught him off guard and already piqued his interest most unfairly and he couldn’t resist teasing her in return, “what is it you want to show me so desperately? That riding hat?” He posed the question as he pulled the nightshirt off over his head, quietly hoping the question might see her glance over at this particular juncture whilst he was shirtless. She was angled towards the door, but he also considered that she was an impatient creature: so Kris decided he might as well follow her instructions to get dressed at a rather – leisurely pace.
Kristoffer threw off the covers and slid out of bed, a little sheepish, himself, about having to pad across the room in his pyjamas. He ran a hand through his hair as if that would make it any less tousled, and went, blearily, for the chest of drawers across from where she was still standing by the door. He began to rummage for a shirt and trousers and whatnot; but his mind was hardly concentrated on that dull endeavour, and his head kept turning over his shoulder in curious looks at her.
“No, for some reason I wasn’t expecting to be held to ransom first thing in the morning,” Kris said, when a measure of his wits and usual snideness had finally returned to him. He didn’t feel the need to add the (...well, obvious) fact that Poppy Dashwood was about the most enticing prospect he could imagine for a spontaneous intrusion or apparent abduction. “So,” he drawled, however, because she had incited this and caught him off guard and already piqued his interest most unfairly and he couldn’t resist teasing her in return, “what is it you want to show me so desperately? That riding hat?” He posed the question as he pulled the nightshirt off over his head, quietly hoping the question might see her glance over at this particular juncture whilst he was shirtless. She was angled towards the door, but he also considered that she was an impatient creature: so Kris decided he might as well follow her instructions to get dressed at a rather – leisurely pace.
