The problem, Kristoffer decided, was that he wasn’t awake enough for this. Physically, he was awake – very alive to every look and word and innocent brush of contact – but obviously he hadn’t shaken off the lingering imagination of a last early morning dream or his sense of social propriety hadn’t kicked in yet, because watching Poppy press herself up against the bedroom door like that was a little more than he could handle.
There wasn’t time to get any ideas, though, because she had already grabbed him by the waistcoat and pulled him away into the hallway. Well, he wasn’t going to protest: he could hardly lead the way, because she obviously knew the layout of the house far better than him. He could have protested to the risk of this little adventure, and what it would look like to anyone if they saw her flitting out of a guest bedroom at this hour – but of course he hadn’t, because he wasn’t selfless enough to give this little outing up, and it was too late now, and anyway, they were too clever to get caught.
That had been a close shave, though, Kristoffer thought, heart hammering, as Poppy threw them up against a wall to hide from the passing staff. And if he’d thought being pressed up against the door had been bad, having her flush against him and his back to the wall was worse. He couldn’t even listen to the footsteps in the background beneath his pulse roaring in his ears and the impulse rising in him –
He caught her, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her there tighter against him – out of necessity, which also made it torture. Because this was perhaps the closest they had ever been, no suggestion of space between them like when they’d danced, and he could see the flush of freckles dusting her face from this close and he could feel the delicate curves of her figure through her riding habit and and now he was really having ideas he shouldn’t. Her hand went to cover her mouth; meanwhile, Kristoffer leaned his head back against the wall and tried as hard as humanly possible to stifle a sexually frustrated groan.
Still, even as the sound of passing servants faded, Kris was slow to let go. She might be enjoying this – and so was he, secretly – but he shot her a raised-eyebrow look anyway, to feign some kind of disapproval. All this for Charles? (He didn’t believe that for a second.) The pretence didn’t last, anyway; he didn’t dare say anything aloud just yet, not until they were down the stairs and out of the main house, but he could offer her a slow, private grin. You’re trouble, you know that.
There wasn’t time to get any ideas, though, because she had already grabbed him by the waistcoat and pulled him away into the hallway. Well, he wasn’t going to protest: he could hardly lead the way, because she obviously knew the layout of the house far better than him. He could have protested to the risk of this little adventure, and what it would look like to anyone if they saw her flitting out of a guest bedroom at this hour – but of course he hadn’t, because he wasn’t selfless enough to give this little outing up, and it was too late now, and anyway, they were too clever to get caught.
That had been a close shave, though, Kristoffer thought, heart hammering, as Poppy threw them up against a wall to hide from the passing staff. And if he’d thought being pressed up against the door had been bad, having her flush against him and his back to the wall was worse. He couldn’t even listen to the footsteps in the background beneath his pulse roaring in his ears and the impulse rising in him –
He caught her, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her there tighter against him – out of necessity, which also made it torture. Because this was perhaps the closest they had ever been, no suggestion of space between them like when they’d danced, and he could see the flush of freckles dusting her face from this close and he could feel the delicate curves of her figure through her riding habit and and now he was really having ideas he shouldn’t. Her hand went to cover her mouth; meanwhile, Kristoffer leaned his head back against the wall and tried as hard as humanly possible to stifle a sexually frustrated groan.
Still, even as the sound of passing servants faded, Kris was slow to let go. She might be enjoying this – and so was he, secretly – but he shot her a raised-eyebrow look anyway, to feign some kind of disapproval. All this for Charles? (He didn’t believe that for a second.) The pretence didn’t last, anyway; he didn’t dare say anything aloud just yet, not until they were down the stairs and out of the main house, but he could offer her a slow, private grin. You’re trouble, you know that.
