Poppy did not adore the note Kristoffer’s voice had taken as he eyed her in that way and mentioned something about skipping classes. He looked too pleased, like a piranha playing with a shrimp. She glanced up at him with amusement scrawled across her face, a petulant eyebrow raised in his direction. So what if she had skipped a class or two. It wasn’t his business, and she certainly wasn’t going to make it such. In a bold move, the man before her reached out to dab at Poppy’s collarbone and inevitably the flush in her cheeks deepened, creeping down her neck. It was rather a hazard to have such pale skin! How very forward he was, taking her arm then. Poppy cocked an eyebrow sassily and tilted her head a little bit. Well, this was certainly not where she had expected this adventure to lead but she had to admit, deep down, she wasn’t entirely put off. Her tone was pleasant, light, amused even as she addressed him. The fire burning under her skin at his touch and the nerves racking down her spine at being so publicly scandalous lingered, a fair warning.
“Mr. Lestrange,” the seventh year intoned carefully. “Are you soliciting me for something quite indecent?” The words were on the tip of her tongue, but Poppy recalled them knowing it was neither the place nor the time. She didn’t know Kristoffer Lestrange like that. They weren’t friends, by any means. Even teasing him with no intention of follow-through could earn her a nasty reputation if she wasn’t careful. So, instead, she placed her free hand on the top of his arm, the one wrapped around her own, and grinned teasingly. “I do hope you mean what you say.” She laughed a bubbly little laugh, perhaps a touch nervous. “If so, then I’d be quite indebted to you.” She gave him a small, decadent pat on the arm. Poppy had no intention of being anyone's shrimp tonight. “The ladies room might do it. I know my governess will have my head if she finds me on your arm looking like this.”
Ok, so maybe some small part of her had a self-preservative instinct too.
© Fox