Page 35 of For You I'd Mend
Rowan patted my bare shoulder. “I’ll see if I can find something of Chris’s for you to wear and grab her sweats.”
I should have kept my distance, but after Rowan left, I stretched out on the floor beside Poppy, facing her and the fire. Seeing her so hurt and upset made it impossible to deny myself the closeness I’d always craved with her.
“It doesn’t matter what they salvage,” she said, softly.
She began tracing the omega on my arm that surrounded Logan’s name. It was one of the first tattoos I’d given myself and one of the most significant. I held my breath, enjoying the feel of her small fingers on my skin and waiting for her to say more. The fire crackled, bathing us in a warm glow. The rest of the house was dark, the silence rich and thick.
After a few moments she gripped my arm. “I’ve lost it.”
“What have you lost?” I asked, brushing the soft, damp skin below her eyes with my thumbs.
“I haven’t been able to sculpt in weeks. I’ve lost my art.”
“Impossible. I saw the sketches you did the other day. Maybe you just need a break from sculpting until something inspires you, but you haven’t lost your skill, your talent.”
She nodded but her eyes looked so sad, I couldn’t stop myself from inching closer and brushing a kiss on her forehead. A quick kiss wasn’t out of line, especially after everything that had happened. But I lingered too long.
“Theo,” she breathed, lifting her hands to my face when I didn’t pull away. I leaned into her touch and lowered my mouth to kiss the tip of her nose. It’d been so long since I’d felt a woman’s hands on me like this. Had it always felt this good, or was it because the fingers brushing gentle circles on my cheeks were hers? My feisty, talented Poppy who deserved so much more than I could ever give her. She lifted her face until our lips were so damn close.
I don’t know if she erased the slim distance between us or if I did, but suddenly, our lips were touching and we were pressed together, leaving no doubt of the effect she had on me. She arched against my erection, and I buried my hand in her short hair, pulling her closer. I lowered my other hand beneath the blanket to her breast, caressing her smooth skin until my fingers found her nipple. She moaned, opening her mouth for me toexplore. I wanted to crawl under the blankets and learn every inch of her beautiful body. I wanted her to touch me until I forgot all the reasons I’d kept us apart.
Her fingers skated down my torso to the waistband of my jeans and all the consequences of what was happening slammed into me. There’d be no stopping if she went further, and I had to stop. I pulled away and stumbled to my feet, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep myself from reaching for her again. I kept my eyes on the ground, my resolve too weak to look at her face.
“This might work,” Rowan said as she walked into the room. I didn’t bother looking at what she’d brought me or thanking her, I just grabbed the clothes and started for the front door where I’d left my boots.
While I dressed, the weight of the sisters’ silence smothered all the thoughts in my head, so when I stepped outside without my jacket, I was numb to the cold, the sounds of activity in the backyard, numb to everything but the certainty that I should be alone.
Chapter eleven
Poppy
“Do you think Imade enough?” Mom asked as she moved the last piece of chicken from the oil-soaked paper towel to the cloth-lined basket on the counter. “There’s two pounds in the fridge, but I was hoping to have that later this week.”
“I could make another side,” Rowan said, studying the basket of chicken like she was taking a crack at Einstein’s theory of relativity.
“You made plenty,” I said.
“Does Theo like green bean casserole, Poppy?” Mom asked.
I love my family. I love my family. I love my family.
“Oh, that’s a great idea,” Rowan said. “I’ll just run to the store for some crispy onions.” She reached for her purse on the counter, clearly ready to delay the visit I’d been dreading for the past two weeks another hour or more. I lost it.
“We’re delivering this right now,” I snapped. “Not in an hour. Not after Rowan realizes she should have made him baklava for dessert instead of brownies because he doesn’t like chocolate. Now.”
Mom and Rowan stared at me with wide eyes.
“The chicken will get cold,” I added with a shrug.
“She’s right,” Rowan said, tucking another cloth over the chicken. “Plus, Cal texted that they’d already finished moving everything in.”
“How is that possible?” Mom asked. “They’ve been gone less than an hour.”
“Theo doesn’t have a ton of stuff.” I grabbed a stack of containers and tossed a Ziploc baggie of biscuits on top. “Come on, let’s go. The chicken is cooling fast.”
“I need to change first,” Mom said, motioning to her frying shirt. Yes, my mom has a frying shirt. It’s about ten years old and covered in oil stains, and even I wasn’t a big enough bitch to insist she leave the house in it.
“We’ll load the station wagon while you change,” I said, heading for the door.
