Poppy was sure she’d lost her mind somewhere on the other side of the balcony, dangling by a thin thread over the garden. Alongside it hung prudence, propriety, and any care she might have for her reputation. There was nothing in her head except a swelling feeling, half resignation that she was doomed and half a terrifying hope for… something. Something she couldn’t quite place. Why was it that despite how improper and reckless this was, she felt safer here and now with Kristoffer than she had all evening? There was nothing in what Poppy knew of the blonde that assured her she was safe from teasing or cruel manipulation. She knew whatever friendship had built up over this past year was undefined, dangerous even. But there was something about it that just struck her differently. Almost as if perhaps she had managed to scratch the surface and burrow someplace behind the charade that Kristoffer put up for the world. Poppy didn’t know what all was back there he might be hiding from, but she hoped at least her attempt to shelter away from the world there with him would not find her tossed out on her rear and battling some tremendous stain on her reputation. They were alike in more ways than she dared to tell him.
Perhaps it was because of this realization that Poppy trusted Kristoffer Lestrange. Perhaps not.
Whatever the reason, she grinned into the surprised little noise he made as she tipped forward. It was nice being the one to catch him off guard for once. Arms wrapped around her waist, tugging closer, and Poppy leaned forward willingly. She was utterly breathless as they finally pulled apart, face flushed red from excitement. Unbeknownst to the brunette a soft, smitten little look had chased away the mischievous grin from before. No slap this time, she agreed to herself quietly.
Before Poppy could help it, a hand had fluttered up to brush back blonde hair that had in no way fallen into Kristoffer’s face. (It was softer than she’d imagined.) The feel of him pressed against her sent a shiver up and down her spine however. Cold digits lingered against his cheek, featherlight against warm skin. It was a moment that didn’t deserve to end but had to before she pressed the envelop too far. Already she could feel the inner hellion licking against her skin, threatening to surge forward and take all advantage of a thrilling situation.
A small laugh suddenly bubbled up as Poppy was busy memorizing every shade of blue behind that endlessly perfect gaze. How ironic that she was the one not to be trusted rather than Mr. Lestrange, king of rakish infamy and doing as he pleased.
Her hand fell away then, albeit reluctantly, and Poppy bit her lower lip as another grin threatened to steal across her face. She almost wished she could admit to her beast aloud. Perhaps he might even understand. Instead, she leaned a hair closer to whisper conspiratorially, lips brushing just against his: “Happy New Years, Kristoffer Lestrange.”
© Fox