Lone Star Twins. Cathy Thacker Gillen

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       Chapter Four

      Poppy knew she and Trace would eventually make love as a married couple. She had just convinced herself it wouldn’t be until she felt emotionally ready.

      She splayed her hands across the hardness of his chest and ducked her head to the side. “You can’t kiss me.”

      He chuckled, stroking one hand down her back, molding the other around the nape of her neck. “Actually, darlin’...” He left a trail of light kisses across the top of her head, down her temple, along the curve of her cheekbone, to the ultrasensitive place just behind her ear. “I think I’m supposed to...”

      “Not yet.” Not until her sentiments were in order, her heart secure.

      “Then how about I help you out of this dress,” he said.

      She moaned as his tongue swept the shell of her ear. “Trace, I—”

      “Unless you’re really going to wear your wedding dress all day.”

      Gently, he eased the unzipped gown from her shoulders.

      Poppy caught it, one hand to her chest.

      His brow lifted. “Something you don’t want me to see?”

      Actually yes. “My sisters...”

      He waited.

      “Well, they got me this, um...”

      As always, he knew where she was going almost before she did. “Lingerie?”

      “As a joke.”

      His husky laughter filled the room. Devilry sparkled in his hazel eyes. “Then I really have to see it.”

      Letting her go, he removed his jacket and the tie still loose around his neck and unbuttoned a few more buttons on his shirt. That came off, too. Leaving only a white cotton military-issue T-shirt and uniform dress pants.

      With a sweep of his arm, he cleared a place on the side of the bed where she’d been sleeping and sat, propped against the headboard, both hands clasped behind his head.

      Her heart pounding, she stammered, “Y-you really expect me to give you a show?”

      “Well...since you’ve outlawed the romantic approach I was intending...having a little fun seems like the way to proceed. Unless—” he dared her with a wolfish smile “—the Poppy I know no longer exists?”

      Poppy planted both hands on her hips, forgetting for a moment she’d been holding up the front of her dress. The bodice tumbled down, revealing the ridiculously sheer and tight-fitting, low-cut bustier that laced up the front.

      His grin widened even more as she decided, against her better judgment, to just leave it where it fell, draped low across her waist. “You know, married or not, I am just the same.”

      “Ah...” He undid his belt then his zipper. “Then prove it.”

      Her gaze followed his hand.

      The bulge she saw pressing against his fly made her mouth water.

      “Unless,” he said, going back to simply watching her, his eyes dark and seductive. “You don’t want to give me something to fantasize about when I am far, far away?”

      * * *

      TRACE HAD MEANT the remark as a jest. Incentive to forget the tumultuous pressure of the past five days and return to their usual horsing around. But the reminder of an eventual departure had set the time clock that always surrounded their reunions running.

      “All right, Lieutenant,” she said.

      Sashaying forward, she turned, giving him a 360-degree view of the dress peeled down to the waist. Facing him, she continued her striptease.

      Not wanting it to be over too soon, Trace goaded. “No music?”

      Poppy stopped. Rolled her eyes. Sauntered over to the CD player on her bureau and pushed Play without even looking. The strains of the “Hallelujah Chorus” burst forth, prompting them both to burst into gales of laughter.

      “Good choice,” Trace said, getting immediately to his feet.

      “What are you doing?” Poppy asked.

      “Isn’t it customary to stand for the finale of Handel’s Messiah?”

      She knew full well, as did he, that it was.

      But it wasn’t the rousing sounds of the traditional oratorio that had his heart pumping. Or hers, either, he guessed. Today it was all them...

      But not wanting her to know—just yet anyway—how wickedly excited he was, lest he ruin the mounting anticipation for her, too, he waited for her to make the next move.

      Her sable brown eyes lit with a lively, impetuous light. Inhaling deeply, eyes locked with his, she stepped out of her dress and then the petticoat. Then slowly, erotically, moved toward him in nothing but the bustier, garter belt and thigh-high stockings, and the tiniest bikini panties he had ever seen.

      When she was just out of reach, she stopped.

      It was all he could do not to groan in frustration, as she began taking the pins from her hair, until it, too, spilled over her shoulders in a tumble of dark, silky-brown curls.

      Unable to hold back, he breathed, “You are so damn beautiful.”

      The adrenaline rush of Handel playing in the background, Poppy sashayed closer still. “Mmm-hmm.” She tilted her face up to his mischievously. “Your turn.” Her eyes drifted over him appreciatively. “Lieutenant...”

      Aware he was already way too aroused to hold back for long, he warned, “Poppy...”

      She stepped away and tilted her head tauntingly. “Unless you don’t dare?”

      Oh, he dared, all right.

      Still appreciating the view, he tugged his T-shirt over his head. Spun around, just as she had.

      Her soft laughter filled the room.

      Hands spread on either side of him, miming a model showing off the garments, he let her look her СКАЧАТЬ