He was wrapped around her now, their limbs tangled together, and though she knew it wouldn’t last—knew it couldn’t last when his life was such a mess, when she was lying to him every minute they spent together—she let herself sink into him, too. Let herself enjoy these last few moments before real life intruded on fantasy. Before all the reasons this was a bad idea once again reared their ugly heads.
It didn’t take nearly long enough for Wyatt to recover—or for the real world to intrude—and when he finally stirred, Poppy expected it to be like the night in the alley. For him to just pull his pants up and go back to the mess he’d made with the band like none of this had ever happened. Or, more accurately, like it didn’t matter that it had.
And why would it? He was a rock star, for God’s sake. He probably couldn’t even count how many women had gone down on him in his life.
And she was okay with being just one more, she assured herself. She really was. After all, sleeping with Wyatt was the worst possible thing she could have done for her own career, so the less fuss anyone made about it, the better. Especially when they had much bigger things to deal with—like figuring out how to keep him in the band.
That wasn’t to say she regretted what had happened, because she didn’t. First off, because who in her right mind could ever regret that kind of pleasure? And two, if being with her helped Wyatt fight his demons for even a little bit, then the way she’d screwed up her own plans was worth it. Because he was worth it.
Except Wyatt didn’t give her a chance to play it cool, didn’t give her a chance to show how okay she was with things going down that way. Because he didn’t walk away.
Instead, he pulled up his jeans, then steadied her as she yanked on her own jeans, sans the underwear that lay in tatters at their feet. She tried to straighten herself up, but there wasn’t much she could do, considering she was certain her hair looked like a rat had nested in it after a bomb had gone off. Still, once her jeans were more or less back where they belonged and her blouse was buttoned again, Wyatt settled back against the trunk of one of the nearby trees and lifted her into his lap.
She went because she didn’t know what else to do—he’d caught her off guard and she wasn’t prepared to resist—and because there was a part of her that really, truly wanted to be cuddled after the most spectacular orgasm of her life. A part of her that wanted to be held and stroked and comforted. The fact that Wyatt Jennings—one of the baddest of rock’s bad boys—seemed to understand that even more than she did, destroyed the last of her preconceptions about him.
“Are you all right?” he asked, nuzzling against her cheek. “I was really rough.”
“You were perfect,” she answered. Because he had been rough—she had the swollen lips and aching jaw to prove it—but he’d also been exactly what she’d wanted. She only hoped he felt the same way about her.
He laughed then, and it was a harsh, rusty sound. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that word in reference to me before.”
“That’s because you haven’t been listening hard enough. It’s out there.”
“Do you always see the world through rose colored glasses?”
“Do you always see the world through gray ones?” she countered.
He cocked a brow at her. “You realize, right, that half the sunglasses on sale have gray shaded lenses?”
“Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the best analogy,” she admitted with a grin. “But my point still stands.”
“Does it? Does it really?”
She rolled her eyes in response then stuck her tongue out at him.
His eyes darkened and for a few moments she was sure he was going to kiss her again, but in the end he settled for tucking a few of the more riotous strands of her hair behind her ear. Then he dug around in the pocket of his jeans for his clove cigarettes and lighter. He offered her one, smiling a little ruefully when she wrinkled her nose and pulled another lollipop out of her pocket.
He stared at it for long seconds before taking it from her and pulling the paper off. “No vices at all?” he asked before shoving his cigarettes back in his pocket and popping the sucker into his mouth instead.
“Tons of vices,” she countered. “Those just don’t happen to be one of them.”
“Oh, yeah?” He looked interested as he settled back against the tree. “Tell me one.”
“And why, exactly, should I give you information you can use against me?”
“It only seems fair. You know all of my vices. I should at least get to know one of yours.”
“Yes, but also to be fair, much of the world knows about your vices. Mine are a bit more private, thank you.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wanted to take them back. Nothing like throwing his past failures in his face just as he was trying to get over them. He didn’t take offense, though. And a quick glance at his eyes told her he hadn’t gone to the dark place she’d already seen him in at least twice. Instead, he just laughed, and this time it sounded a little more natural, a little less rusty.
“With a name like Poppy, a guy could be excused for thinking your vices aren’t any better hidden than mine.”
“My mother had issues, okay? My half-sister’s name is Belladonna.”