Chapter 9
Poppy’s eyes were Southern Comfort laced with Cajun spice—the kind that burned your tongue if you got too much of it. Even in her obvious state of depression over what he assumed was her recent breakup, she was a sexy woman. Her wrinkled clothes did nothing to hide the ample roundness of her breasts or the succulent nipples pushing against her top. The pull-on yoga kind of pants, but shorter, revealed more curvy parts that included her sumptuous ass. His fingers itched to run over the round cheeks, to see if they were as ample yet as firm as they had felt in his hands last week. And her bare calves—angels didn’t have such beautiful, creamy skin. Angels definitely didn’t have red toenails with daisies painted on them.
The daisies pushed him over the edge from the constant awareness he’d had of her since she’d walked into the house to a full-blown, pushing-against-the-crotch of his jeans erection. And she probably hadn’t showered in a few days.
“Christ.” Another flash, a long rumble of thunder. He couldn’t do this. Not with her, not in his brother’s house. “I’m here to check on the house, to see if it’ll hold up through the rain. You know about the weather reports, right?”
She tugged at the bottom of her shirt. “The grocery cashier mentioned it. I got a couple of cases of water, and—oh, shit!” Her eyes grew round and she turned and ran for the front door.
“Poppy, wait, you can’t go running out in this lightning.” He followed her, figuring the deluge would stop her. Yankee girl wasn’t from these parts and no amount of lightning was going to waylay her, however.
Wind slammed the oak door open and Poppy ran out to her car, slipping and sliding on the wet pebbles. Lightning flashed like a strobe through the sheets of tropical rain. His brain registered that the rain wasn’t going to stop for a long time—this was catastrophic, flood-making rain.
Poppy wasn’t stopping, either, as she struggled with the handle on the passenger door of what he thought must be Sonja’s car. He caught up to her and stopped, watching the rain run in streams down her smooth, flawless neck as she reached into the BMW SUV and pulled a couple of Piggly Wiggly bags off the seat. Her T-shirt was no longer baggy but clung to her. He reached out and touched her shoulder. It would be easy to lie to himself, say it was a concerned contact, a physical way to get through to her in her obvious state of dismay over whatever was inside the vehicle.
All he wanted was for her to do exactly what she did. Close the door, turn around, face him. Look up at him through the torrent, allow him to see how her large nipples were outlined by the soaked fabric, reassuring him that their time on the gazebo hadn’t been a dream. Her amber eyes were liquid sex and the heat in them blew away his last shred of resistance.
He pushed his pelvis up against hers, giving her time to change her mind, even as her lips let go of a moan and she tilted her head back against the body of the car. The heat between her legs made his erection painful as it strained through the denim. When Poppy put her hands on his waist and wrapped her leg over his hip, he followed the rain and let go.
A flood of lust, desire, and sexual frustration that had built since he’d seen her last overflowed his mental restraint and he held her face in his hands as he kissed her. It wasn’t anything sentimental or romantic—it was pure need, greedy and unapologetic. Need for the most intriguing woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Her tongue was hot and she didn’t only match him stroke for stroke but she demanded her take of him, too.
He wanted to worship her, cradle her breasts but he had to have her close to him, part of him, so he wrapped one arm around her waist and one lower, grasping her hard little ass in his hand.
A soft splat as the bags hit the ground and Poppy’s arms wound around his neck. This time it was Poppy pressing against him, her breasts flattened on his chest.
“Where, Yankee girl? Tell me where you want to do this.” He bit her lower lip and she groaned, the vibration from her throat going straight to his cock.
He shifted to have a better hold of her and his foot settled into something soft and messy. Looking down, he saw the half gallon of ice cream he’d squished, its melted contents melding with the rain. A bright box of microwave kettle popcorn was near his big toe.
Chick food. Sad chick food.
He looked at Poppy. Her swollen lips matched the half-lidded expression that begged him to keep going, to fuck her senseless right upside the Beemer where anyone who drove by could see them, rain and all. Still holding her, he took a step back and allowed room between them. Room for the raindrops to fall and hit the plastic grocery bag with decided plop-plop-plops.
“Fuck, Poppy. We can’t do this, babe.”
“What?” Clouds of lust cleared from her amber eyes and anger snapped out of their depths. “What. The. Hell.” She shoved against his chest and he let his arms drop to his sides.
“Let’s go inside and talk.” Since when was he the sensitive type? His dick was never going to forgive him. The ache for Poppy was insatiate.
She bent over to grab the groceries and clutched the sodden bag to her chest. “I don’t want to talk to you. Stay the hell away from me!” She stalked away from him and he hung his head, let the water drip off his nose, his face. Christ, he was soaked—she had to be, too. Gritting his teeth, he turned around and followed her to the house. Because of his stupid, let-my-dick-do-the-thinking move, it was going to be a lot harder to convince Poppy that she couldn’t stay here. And that the only place left to take refuge from the storm was his house.
Double fuck.
* * * *
Poppy shivered under the hot stream of water, thinking she’d take a steaming bath later tonight, too.
It’d been too close of a call out there with Brandon. Thank God for the rain and for an excuse to run into the house like she had. It would have been polite to at least give the dude a towel but he could figure out where the other shower was if he needed it. Hopefully he’d taken his big truck back to what she figured was no doubt some fancy mansion his boat business had paid for. It’d be easier on both of them if they never saw one another again.
She dried off with thick fluffy pink towels that had to be Sonja’s and tried to ignore the shame that made her gut wiggle. Brandon had seen her at her absolute worst. Five days into her pity party, the longest she’d gone without dressing up or putting on makeup since starting her stylist business in New York six years ago. And still, he’d kissed her. Shit, she’d almost gotten down on her knees and made up for what he hadn’t let her do Saturday night. Cock-blocked again, and he hadn’t even pretended it was the rain that stopped him.
He’s better gone. Although it would have been fun to try to design nautical decor. She put on a clean pair of yoga pants and a loose-fitting lightweight sweatshirt, relishing the crisp clean scent and soothing textures. Yup, a shower had been what she’d needed. No wonder she’d let him kiss her like that—she’d been half crazed from her mopefest.
You kissed him back.
Yes, she had. Making her way downstairs to the kitchen she let out a yelp at the sight of Brandon sitting at the expansive island. “I told you to leave. Did the rain make mush of your brains?”
“Sorry, no can do. Not until you agree to let me get you to the airport.”
He was kicking her out?
“I can’t leave. I’m house-sitting for Sonja and Henry.” She looked around the kitchen for candles and grabbed a glass jar filled with one from the counter. “Look. Emergency lighting, and it smells like cottage roses.”
“Poppy, when the power goes out so will the sump pumps. At this rate of rain we’ve got about another twenty minutes to drive out.”
“Because they’ll block the roads?”
He placed his hands on his hips. “No, because the Mississippi is overflowing its banks and this tributary is next.”
“I can’t leave the house to the weather.”
“Henry asked me to come check on you. It’s my assessment that you’re no longer safe here. You’ve got fifteen minutes to pack and then we’re out of here. I’ll find you a flight while you pack, if you want.” He was serious.
“You’re still wet.”
“Poppy.”
“Fine!” She ran back upstairs and did as he asked, throwing her clothes into her luggage in five minutes flat. Once back downstairs she loaded her portfolio, laptop, and art journals into her backpack and turned to face him with satisfaction.
“Done. But you don’t have to take me. I’ll follow you out of the neighborhood to the main road. I can get to the airport on my own in Sonja’s car. We’d already planned for me to leave the car there for her and Henry when they get back. When they were going to get back. You know what I mean.” When there was going to be a honeymoon, before the wedding had been ruined.
Brandon shook his head. His T-shirt still clung to his chest. He had to be freezing, but not an iota of shiver emanated from him. “No can do, Poppy. Sonja’s car will never make it through the water. It’s rising too quickly. My pickup’s the only choice.”
She wavered between deciding to stay put regardless of his opinion or to ignore him and drive herself out of here anyway. She’d driven through the residential roads less than an hour before. It wasn’t raining that hard.
A flash followed by an immediate growl of thunder made her decision.
“Let’s go. I’ll move up my flight while we drive. If there are still flights going, that is.”
“The airport’s not due to shut down for another two hours. It’s a half hour away in good weather, so if we’re lucky we’ll get you there with an hour to spare. Check in online, obviously.”
“I always do.”
He nodded. It was impossible to tell if he was relieved she’d agreed or had thought he’d already made the decision and was waiting for her to figure it out. She’d never allowed a man to make decisions for her. Even with Will the choices had been all her own. That should have been her first of many clues that Will wasn’t invested in their relationship. In her.
Within two minutes her bags were on the backseat of the truck’s cab and Brandon was maneuvering around and through the shallowest parts of the flood water, nearly all of the road covered. He swore softly under his breath as he concentrated, and Poppy tried to get a signal on her phone. Brandon had the radio tuned to an AM station. The broadcast was static and continuous emergency weather information.
“I can’t get a signal.” Her phone wasn’t responding to her efforts to launch her airline app, much less make a call.
“Cloud cover’s too dense, and with the lightning there’s a good chance one or more of the towers are out.”
Her shoulders tensed when the truck seemed to groan as it crept through the water that rapidly approached the level of her door’s window.
Brandon stopped the truck and rapped his fingers on the wheel, staring out at the rain and wind.
“Why did you stop?”
He took in a breath, shifted the car into reverse, and placed his hand on the back of the seat so that he could turn enough to look out the rear window.
“We’re going back.” The strain of maneuvering the vehicle was evident in his taut throat. Damn her lips for wanting to kiss it nonetheless.
“Why? You said we have to get out of here now. There’s one other way out, if you turn left back over there.” She hadn’t wanted to come out of the safe, dark hole she’d burrowed under since the wedding but now that it was clear that New Orleans wasn’t going to help her feel better she wanted to be anywhere but NOLA. She wouldn’t go back to the city, not yet, but she could get a flight to Western New York and stay with her mother or sister for the time being.
First, she had to get to the airport.
“You’ll still be able to get me out, right? To the airport?”
As if he heard her, the AM radio deejay declared: “New Orleans airport has been closed. Repeat, New Orleans airport is closed. Shelter in place or safely move to a community shelter. Do so as soon as possible.”
Poppy’s stomach flipped.
“I can stay at the house, really. I’ll stay on the top floor.” Did she sound as frightened as she felt?
“We’re going to have to boat out of here, Poppy.” He’d turned the truck back around and she was relieved to see hard road again.
“I don’t understand how the water is so high back there when the house is right on the river and we can still get to the driveway just fine.”
“We’re on top of the bayou, Yankee girl. Henry had the house built on the highest point of land, but also on a significantly raised foundation. Few folks around here can afford to do that. But even with all the safeguards, Henry’s house is probably going to flood, at least the first level.”
“That’s awful! All of their furniture will be ruined.”
His eyes flashed over her face and she saw a definite twinkle there. “It’ll be fine. We’ll move everything to the second floor. Then we’ll go to my place.”
“I’m not staying with you! And how do you know your house isn’t in just as bad of shape?”
“You don’t have a choice, Poppy.” His hands held the wheel firmly, his confidence in being able to navigate the treacherous waters evident. But his knuckles grew white and his mouth was in a grim line. “I’m not going to touch you again. What happened earlier was nuts. We’re both probably stressed after the way the wedding blew up in our faces.”
She swallowed. “You sure know how to make a girl feel pretty.”
“Your attractiveness has nothing to do with it. But for the record, you could have stepped out of a pigsty and you’d look as hot as ever. You’re that kind of woman, Poppy.”
Tension thrummed between them, a taut awareness that was becoming as familiar as the scent of the winter-blooming camellias that graced Sonja’s porch. Poppy couldn’t afford this; her heart was still in shreds from Will. From losing the Attitude by Amber line. From not knowing where her life was headed.
He didn’t force her from her silence. “My house sits up and away from the water far enough to not worry about it, not for a good while. It would take a week of rain like this to make the water level near me rise to my house. I did as much to hurricane-proof it as I could when I built it. It’s safe and as weather-protected as any place in these parts. And where else are you going to go?”
He had her there. With the airport shutdown and Henry and Sonja’s place about to flood, she was screwed. Doubly so. And of course Brandon had a stormproof house. He was a multimillionaire, according to what she’d found on the Internet. Not that she’d spent a lot of time obsessing over him.
“Double dang damn it.”
His laughter reached across the cab to her as he pulled back onto the gravel driveway and cut the engine.