Winterblaze

Chapter Thirty-eight





Poppy wanted to sleep. She wanted it so badly her eyelids drooped. Yet in the same breath she wanted to act. Crying things out with her sisters had drained her, but it had also strengthened her resolve to see this thing with Isley finished. A bath had not helped her relax. Only one thing would, and Win had not returned to their rooms so she stood alone before the rain-streaked window and stared out at the desolate street. The night was thin, and even the most exuberant of revelers were now in bed. All in bed, save her and Win.

While Poppy might have stayed at her own home, she’d returned to Ranulf House. Call it stubbornness, call it pride, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t return home with Win until things were settled between them. Besides, Win’s things were still here at Ranulf House. So here she would wait.

Perhaps he wouldn’t return at all. He’d comforted her well, but some small, childish part of her feared that he’d done so out of pity. A humorless snort left her as she rested an arm on the window sash. Why shouldn’t he pity her? She’d cocked up her life by hurting everyone she’d ever cared for.

A small click of the door handle had her stiffening. A sliver of light traveled over her shoulders and made the window shine as the door opened. In the reflection of the glass, Win was a tall shadow against a patch of yellow. He stood for a moment, watching her watch him in the window. Then he closed the door behind him with a muted thud. She lost sight of him as the room grew dim once more.

His steps were almost undetectable as he moved farther into the room. “Are you well?”

“As I can be.” Still she did not turn. Everything in her screamed for her to go to him, beg him to hold her until she felt whole once more. But she couldn’t. She was too raw, an open wound, and he was her salt.

The rustling sounds of him removing his coat and hat filled the void. Domestic sounds. She knew them well. Poppy swallowed convulsively. The moment was almost normal, a peaceful close to the end of a long day. Save nothing would ever be normal again. Sacrifices had to be made. Someone had to die.

She could feel Win getting closer, as if he were a magnetic force and she a length of steel. He stopped behind her, close enough for her to feel his energy and smell his scent. He did not touch her. Not yet, but it was coming, and her whole body tensed with anticipation.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked in the quiet.

Poppy blinked down at her hands, so white and clenched upon the sash. When her voice came it was a whisper. “Because you weren’t here.”

His breath caught on the inhale, then slowly left him. Win shifted his weight, and the specter of his face appeared at the window, hovering over her shoulder. Poppy closed her eyes against the pain in his expression.

“When you were gone, I never slept,” she said. “Not really.”

Win’s voice cracked between them. “Every night I ached for you.” He stepped closer, his heat and his strength bracketing her. Soft lips touched the outer shell of her ear. “Every night I counted myself a fool for leaving.” Slowly, so very slowly she might have imagined it, his hands skimmed her arms, setting off little tremors of want in their wake. “You asked me once for forgiveness.” He leaned in, his lips just touching the tender point of her neck. “Will you grant it to me?” Wide palms traced her waist, barely touching, just enough to make her tremble with the need to press against him. She stayed her course, her fists pushing against the cold window glass.

Gently, he swept her hair away from her neck, then pressed a lingering kiss there. Poppy’s knees went weak.

“I am tired of pretending,” he said. “Of spending another agonizing night lying next to you and trying to think of anything else but shagging you until my cock gives out.”

“Win.” Her voice croaked. She wanted to turn around, to tell him how much she needed him. And yet she was frozen.

“No more, Poppy.” His tongue traced a heated path along her neck, back to that spot just below her ear that made her shiver and flush. She did not move, barely breathed. Win’s attention was a fragile thing, a dream that she might wake from and find herself alone again. As if sensing her thoughts, his touch grew stronger as he ran his palm up to her throat.

His smoky voice was at her ear. “No more acting as though I am not so utterly in love with my wife that it tears my heart out not to hold her. Not another night, Poppy. It makes a mockery of what I feel for you.”

With agonizing deliberation, his fingers went to the buttons of her dressing gown. Her breath caught just as he slipped the first button free. “From the very first moment I saw you, you were all I thought about.”

Cool air crept beneath the widening gap in her dressing gown. She stood before the open window, facing the night, her pulse racing and her breath unsteady.

“All I wanted.” He paused, and then his hand slipped underneath her open gown. His palm met with her bare breast, and he groaned low and deep. “All I want.”

Gently he played with her, brushing over her areola, lightly cupping the small swell of her breast until it grew heavy and tender, her nipple aching to be pinched. Poppy gritted her teeth. Lust had her lower belly coiling tight and hot.

“Win…” Her breath caught as he worried the very tip of her nipple with his finger. “Don’t play.”

A low, seductive chuckle rumbled in his chest. His mouth closed over her earlobe, and she gasped when he bit it. “You like it when I play.”

Oh, but she did. Her lids fluttered closed when, as if opening a delicate tome, he parted her gown.

Her fists unfurled, and her palms pressed against the glass, foggy now from the heat of her breath. “Win.” Their room was dark, but not as dark as the street. Anyone passing by might see her. See them. The knowledge sent fire and ice through her sensitized flesh. Her breath grew to panting. He was exposing her, and he knew it. He knew what it did to her, how it made her heart race and her sex grow white-hot with need.

Win stood quiet, his warm breath stealing over her neck and down her bare skin. “Just look at you,” he whispered. “So lovely and strong.”

The dark street opened up before them. The sight of her own breasts jutting out, her nipples hard and dark, sent a thrill of base excitement through her. Every breath she took sent a shiver over her skin. Decadent heat licked over her as she arched, thrusting her breasts toward the window. Win’s hard weight pressed into her back. He grunted as his thick erection nudged between her buttocks. “What you do to me, Poppy.”

He touched her hair, tilting her head just slightly to get at her neck, and his words vibrated through her as he murmured against her skin, “ ‘Through the dancing poppies stole, a breeze, most softly lulling to my soul.’ ” His teeth grazed her. “You are the spark that lights my soul, Boadicea.”

Then his hands… those big, rough hands glided along her tender skin, touching her aching nipples in brief acknowledgment before sliding down. An inarticulate sound left her as his fingers delved between her thighs.

Her legs trembled as she parted them further. For him. The feel of him teasing, and the window like a big eye upon her, not letting her hide. His broad chest rocked against her shoulder blades with each breath he took as he explored her with slow, gentle strokes.

“Softly,” he whispered. “Always so softly, until the moment I take you hard.”

Gods, but she wanted it. Fast and hard. From behind, until she couldn’t stand, couldn’t think of anything other than him and how she felt when she was under his control. He set her free. Undone, her forehead thunked against the glass, her eyes tightly shut. But his arm snaked around her, his free hand coming up to cup just beneath her chin. He forced her head up, made her pay attention. His reflection was a blur in the glass, all but his eyes that gleamed in the dark.

“Do you want me, Poppy?” The long length of his cock ground into her. “Here?”

Her knees buckled. Only his arm about her kept her from falling. “Yes,” she managed. “Yes.”

He pushed a finger into her. A brief invasion to make her quake. His hand slipped away, leaving her wanting. His lips touched her cheek. “Show me.” He stepped back, far enough so that she might turn.

Her legs wobbled, and the dressing gown slithered to the floor as she faced him. He stood before her, tall and proud, his scars white in the shadows of his face. She traced the one that led to his mouth. Back and forth, she rubbed the small knot of scar tissue that bisected his upper lip. Win’s deep-set gaze was a living thing, burning her skin. His lips parted for her, and her thumb slipped inside him. Heat and wetness. He sucked her with firm pulls, and she swayed. Her thumb slipped free when he spoke.

“Undress me, wife.”

He’d taken off his waistcoat, but still remained in shirtsleeves and trousers. His braces emphasized the width of his shoulders and the length of his lean torso. No words were spoken as her hands slipped beneath the suspenders and slid one then the other off. Crisp linen met her palm, and beneath it his heart pounded. Poppy rested there and shivered, not from cold but for the want of him.

Poppy cupped his cheeks. One smooth cheek, the other bumpy with scars. Slowly, she kissed his ravaged cheek, and his eyes fluttered closed. His lips hovered near hers, close enough to touch, but he did not let her kiss him.

“Finish what you started.” His voice was low, nearly stern, but a glint of tender amusement lit his eyes. A dare.

Holding his gaze, she went to work on his shirt. His body canted the slightest bit as she tugged his buttons free. Countless times she had undressed him and still it felt new, slightly forbidden. The heat in his gaze and the sound of his unsteady breath, ratcheting up with each button she eased free, sent her own need rising. And all the time, she was conscious of the window at her back and the humid air kissing her hot skin.

With efficiency born of experience, she pulled his shirt over his head and then simply looked at him. He’d called her lovely. He had no idea what he was to her. His strength, the hatch-work of his scars, the dark golden chest hair that gilded a path down to the bulge beneath his low-lying trousers—all of it made her dizzy with need.

Her mouth found the thick slash along his neck. He swallowed hard as she licked it. She placed a kiss on the hollow of his throat, loving the way his flesh jumped and his breath hitched.

“I forget about them when I am with you.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “They are testament that you lived.” Her soft kisses followed the lines of his scars. He was utterly edible. And so she bit him, her teeth sinking into his hard muscle. Win grunted, his hips thrusting against hers as if he’d been jerked.

“Cheeky girl,” he murmured.

Grinning, Poppy nuzzled the spot. Win’s heavy hand grasped her nape. His serious eyes bore into her as, exacting gentle but firm pressure, he guided her to her knees. “Now show me.”

Kneeling before him, Poppy looked up at him. Only he could command her like this. Only he thought to try, as if he knew how much she needed to let go and be in someone’s keeping. The tips of his fingers touched her lower lip. “Give me that lovely mouth, sweeting.”

Suppressing a shudder of hot lust, she reached for his trousers. His erection strained against the fabric, pulling the buttons tight. With shaking fingers, she worked him free. Her hands flowed along his skin, smoothing over the rough, long muscles of his thighs as she eased his trousers and smalls down.

Against her cheek, the hard shaft of his cock twitched, nudging up to get her attention. He had it. His heavy cods drew up tight, and the glorious shaft pulsed with life, the head shining and ruddy with impatience.

Her mouth watered. The need to take him set her skin on fire. But she wanted Win as undone as she was. Holding his gaze, she leaned forward. A tender kiss upon his navel had muscles there moving up and down in an unsteady cadence. The skin along his lower abdomen grew tauter, silken. Her teeth grazed the sharp edge of his hip bone, playing there.

He did not let her get away with it. Strong fingers threaded through her hair, gripping her. His scarred hand wrapped around the root of his cock, holding it for her as he pushed her head forward. “Take it, wife. Take me.”

It was all she had ever wanted to do. Poppy opened for him. He filled her mouth, and a groan tore from the depths of his chest. She suckled him, a light tease.

“Ah… God, Poppy.” The muscles in his forearm stood out as he held the back of her head. “Suck it hard, sweeting.” His hips canted as if to make his point. But she held him fast, pressing her hands upon his hips as she paid homage to the very tip of him, loving the smoothness, the taste of him. Loving the way his breath grew ragged and his big body bowed against her.

“Poppy Ann Lane,” he ground out, between her light licks, “if you don’t…” His breath left in a rush as she drew him in as deep as she could. “Oh, yes.” His hand drifted to cup her cheek. “There’s a good wife.”

She smiled around him. Then her eyes closed as she concentrated on filling her mouth with him. Her tongue drew along his thick ridge, her hands stroking him. His thighs trembled, and she knew he was close to his peak. Win’s fingers twined in her hair. He was taking over, holding her head as he worked himself in and out of her mouth. And she shuddered. She was purely feminine, and he was purely male.

The sound of his grunts and the feel of him sliding in and out of her mouth made her whimper. White heat licked over her skin and set her body shaking. Poppy pressed her hand between her thighs, touching herself as she loved him. Her climax hit, unexpected and hard. She shuddered through it, and, as she did, she tried something she’d been aching to do for years—she let her power go. Cold filled her mouth, licking over his length.

“Hell,” he rasped. He arched against her, his fingers digging into her hair, the hard muscles of his torso straining and glorious. There was power in that too, making him come undone and helpless. The essence of him filled her mouth, and she swallowed it down, taking that small part of him into her. She attended him until he grew limp and fell back against a chair with a jagged sigh that spoke of satisfaction. Before she could speak, he was pulling her up and gathering her close.

His chest trembled, and she rested her palm on him. When he spoke, his voice was like rust. “That bit at the end…” He swallowed.

Poppy rested her forehead against his as he traced her jaw and cheek with a shaking hand. She smiled against his skin. “You liked it.” It wasn’t a question; she knew him too well to wonder.

“Exceedingly.” He nuzzled her neck as he held her. “I missed you.”

Poppy’s hand fell against his damp chest. “Of that I have no doubt.”

They both stilled, and then as if by some agreement, they laughed. He shook with it as he kissed the tip of her nose. His gaze, when he caught hers, danced with a light she had missed so much. He grinned wide, boyish and free. “Now then, let us see how else we can utilize that talent of yours.”

Loose limbed with slumberous warmth, Poppy drifted on a cloud of contentment. Dawn was here, and the very idea of it threatened to pull her down into a sea of terror. An unfamiliar sensation that she struggled to avoid for the moment in favor of just being. If only for a little longer. Heavy male legs twined with hers. A strong arm held her close against a wall of muscle and hot skin. The warm cup of Win’s palm was against her breast. For years she had awoken in this manner, surrounded by Win. For months she had awoken alone. And though her body was quite used to the sensation of Win, her heart felt fragile as thin ice over deep water.

When he stirred, she turned to meet his gaze. Nearly nose to nose, they studied each other. He’d come to her again and again. Stopping only when they were both too weak to move. And she ached now, in places that had been too long ignored. Even so, the unwelcome morning light lay full upon them now, making her squint as she studied his deep set eyes.

Win’s wide mouth quirked. “Shall I speak first then?” His damaged voice was husky and uneven.

Poppy’s hand, resting on the small of his tight back, pressed against him. “If you insist.” Flutters ran through her belly but she did not lower her gaze.

The cool blue of his eyes turned warm. “I love you.”

Her breath caught, and he said it again, against her mouth. “I love you.” Moving in that assured, greedy way only a man intent on tupping could, he rolled on to her, making himself at home between her thighs. His lips ghosted over her neck and down to the pendant resting in the hollow of her throat. His teeth clinked on the gold as he took it in his mouth and gave it a light tug just as he used to do. Poppy smiled up at him, and he let it go. “I love you.” All of her.

The hot crown of his cock found her opening, and he shuddered. She was wet already.

A lazy grin slid over his lips as he eased into her. And in, and in. Until he was fully seated. “I love you, Poppy Lane.” His hand glided along her skin, over her arm, and their fingers threaded. He held her hand as he made love to her, in an undulating movement that never paused. She wanted it to last forever.

“Win…” She wrapped her legs around his hips, holding him there.

Win’s response fell short as someone pounded on the door. “Bloody—” He bit his bottom lip as if to keep from shouting, then turned his head. “Whoever it is, we are not receiving callers.”

Laughter burst from Poppy. “Good lord, Win.”

He gave her a repressive look. “Ought I have said we were shagging instead?”

“It might work better.”

The insistent knocking returned, followed shortly by Ian’s deep voice. “It’s rather important, Lane.”

“Buggering hell.” Win wrenched round, and his voice boomed as he responded. “If you do not leave this instant, I will tear your cods off.”

Poppy covered her face with hot hands as she pictured Ian Ranulf standing on the other side of the door. “Just go see what he wants,” she said through her fingers.

Inside her, Win’s cock twitched in protest. “Not likely.” He moved his hips, a delicious glide that had her attention.

“It’s about Talent,” said Ian through the door.

“Oh, God.” Poppy shoved at Win’s shoulders, rather like trying to budge a barge for the way he resisted. “Just go.” When he frowned down at her, she tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. “The moment is over, love. I can’t do this now. Not with him,” she jerked her head toward the door, “out there.”

Several raw and rather creative curses left Win’s mouth as he slipped free. Poppy felt the loss acutely, but had to smile at his ire. Win pointed a long finger at her. “It is not over. Stay there.”

Still cursing, he grabbed his trousers and shoved them on before stalking to the door.

Winston wrenched the door open and caught Ian mid-knock. “What is it?” Win wanted nothing more than to slam the door in Ranulf’s face and return to Poppy, but he had to ask. “Is Talent ill?”

“No.” Ian grimaced. “Not more than he was. Here is the thing—”

Win’s hand tightened on the door. “Tell me about it later.” He had only so much time before he had to face the day and figure out his bloody fate, and he was going to revel in it.

Ian’s brows snapped together. “Look here, Lane—”

“Not right now,” Win ground out through his teeth.

They glared at each other for a wild moment in which Win struggled to keep from shouting like a madman. Something in his expression must have registered with Ian, for the man’s scowl dissolved, and he finally took in the fact that Win was half dressed. “Ah, I see.”

“Just—give me an hour.” Win halted and winced. “Two.”

He could have sworn Ian’s cheeks colored. “I’ll go.”

“I say,” came a feminine voice from the direction of the hall. “Is Poppy in there?”

Win groaned and let his head thunk against the doorframe as Daisy came up behind Ian. He could only thank God that Ian spun around and caught Daisy by the arm. “Later,” he said to his wife.

“I only wanted to check if she was truly all right,” Daisy protested as he led her back down the corridor.

Ian leaned close and murmured something in her ear. Before Win could see her response, he closed the door on them both. If he got out of this mess with Jones, he was taking Poppy back to their home in short order. He missed their cozy house. With its utter privacy.

A sense of foreboding crept along the back of his neck as he walked back into the bedroom.

Poppy listened to the exchange in the hall and bit her lip to keep from laughing. Ordinarily, she’d have gone and shooed Ian away. But Win had it in hand, leaving her to do as she pleased. Content to do just that, Poppy flopped over on her stomach and hugged the bed. But a thud from below caught her attention. She bent over the side. A small, slim leather notebook lay upon the floor. Win’s notebook. He had many of them. The last one she’d seen had been battered and bloody, a ravaged survivor pulled from his pocket after the werewolf had attacked him. Poppy had found a way to get that notebook into Ian Ranulf’s hands so that he might have the facts needed to defeat those who’d hurt Win.

The leather was smooth against her palm as she reached down to pick up the notebook. It appeared to have fallen from the little side table by the bed. So then, not hidden away.

This was what she told herself as she opened it. She was outright prying, yes. She did not care. She’d long gone past the point of respectable behavior in regard to him at any rate.

His familiar slanted scrawl across the page made her throat tighten. She’d read his notes before. Win committed every fact to memory, but he liked to write them down as well for, as he’d say, sometimes seeing the story written down cast it in a different light. Those notes were often disjointed, little facts written here and there, interspersed with his musings. But this was different. These words were orderly, a narrative. Her frown grew as she began to read… From the moment he’d stepped off that train, his life changed completely. And it had been because of a woman… By the end of the first page, her heart thudded against her breast.

“I wanted you to find it.”

The notebook landed on the ground with a slap as she jumped.

Bathed in the morning light, Win stood just inside the room. Anger did not lurk in his gaze, but sorrow, deep and pained. “Just not at this moment.”

“You’re writing about when we first met.” Her cold fingers wound themselves into the sheets. “But it is different. I don’t remember events quite in that way.”

His lashes lowered, hiding his soul away from her. “It is what really happened. Before.”

Before bloody Isley.

“Why write it down, Win?” Bile crept up her throat.

“I wanted you to know.”

She went to him, close enough to smell the scent of their lovemaking against his hot skin. Close enough to see the muscle tick at his jaw.

“Why not simply tell me?” Pain and ugliness would come with his answer. Even so, she pressed on. “Why write it all down?”

His shoulders hunched, and in the silence, the sounds of the household drifted up from below.

“Win.”

An eternity passed before he lifted his gaze to hers. His voice was ice crunching beneath a boot. “Because I won’t be here. And I wanted you to have something to… to remember me by.”

She could not breathe, could not move past the numbness taking hold of her limbs. She tried to speak, shuddered, then tried again. “W-what do you mean?”

Still he did not move, as if he too were frozen. His eyes filled, highlighting their winter-blue color, before a single tear spilled over, bumping its way down his ravaged cheek. “Boadicea.”

Her breath left in a gust. “The bargain. He’s taking your soul regardless of whether we succeed or not.”

He didn’t need to say a thing. It was written on his skin, in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dimly she heard something crack, the shattering of the lamp glass. Ice cold swirled about her.

He moved then, gathering her in his arms and pressing her against his warmth. “Stop.” He held her tighter. But she could not stop the cold that invaded her soul, nor stop it from slipping out to freeze the room.

“Why, Win?”

His lips brushed her temple. “Saying it aloud would make it real.” Then his fingers were in her hair, his cheek pressed hard against hers. “I did not want it to be true.”

She couldn’t stand it. She needed to move, but he wouldn’t let her go. “I will kill him.” She pushed against Win’s chest to little effect. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“We are going to meet him, and then I am going to destroy him, Win. I swear to God, I will.”

He pulled back far enough to look into her eyes. “You will not.” His fingers gripped her tighter. “You will not put yourself in harm’s way.”

“This is why you did not tell me.”

His expression grew implacable. “In part.” He leaned closer until they were nose to nose. “I will not have you risk your safety over me.”

Seething, Poppy pressed her palms against his chest. “Why is my life so much more valuable than yours?”

“Because of this.” His hand slid down to rest gently upon her abdomen. And her heart stopped. Win saw her understanding, and he nodded weakly. “You are my joy, and my purpose. I came alive when I met you.” His hand smoothed over her in a whisper of a caress. “But this babe inside of you. That is my legacy. You will protect him. See him grow and bloom.”

“Not alone…” She shivered, and he kissed her. Softly. So softly, as though he were cherishing it, memorizing the feel of it. Poppy tore her mouth away. “You will be here. With me. With us.”

His eyes traveled over her face, his touch upon her cheek tender. “I will never leave you. Not really.”

She squeezed his hands, uncaring if she crushed his fingers. “No! Not in spirit! You will be here. I cannot…” Blood coated her tongue, and she realized she’d bitten her lip. “I cannot do this without you, Win. I will not.”

His smile was tired, as if he’d already given up. She squeezed him harder, but he did not seem to notice. “Boadicea, not even your force of will can stop everything.”

“I can stop this!”

Win gave her a measured look. “Whatever you are thinking, don’t.”

But she most certainly would. Knowing he wouldn’t expect it, she shoved him hard, causing him to stumble back, then she fled into the dressing room.





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