Poppy stood up and looked at him. Well, at the chair.
“Forget the football, you can watch Strictly Ballroom, if you like,” he said, with no expectation she’d hear him. In fact, Joe only said it because he knew she couldn’t hear him. He hated the bloody film, but Poppy adored it.
She walked over to the cupboard and took out a DVD with familiar cover. It took a moment to sink in. Had she heard him?
“Poppy?” Joe whispered and stood up.
She turned and looked at him. God, she’s looking at me. But Joe still wasn’t sure.
“Popcorn or ice cream?” she said.
“Ice cream.”
He took a step toward her and she went in the other direction, heading for the kitchen. A moment later, she was back with two bowls of chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream. She put one on each arm of the couch.
Joe had no idea what was happening. She’d heard him. She’d brought two dishes of ice-cream. She was acting as though things were normal. Maybe he wasn’t dead. Maybe they were both dead. Maybe he was having a horrible nightmare. Joe picked up his bowl and, as usual, sorted a spoonful of dough pieces and held it out for Poppy. She took the spoon in her mouth, sucked off the ice-cream and then started to shake.
He moved both bowls to the floor, well out of the way of Poppy’s trouble-attracting feet and then froze with his hand hovering over hers. He wasn’t sure if he could stand the disappointment of his fingers passing right through her. She wouldn’t see or feel him. The Joe she was talking to only existed in her mind. What if he was stuck in limbo because she’d kept him alive in her heart? Was all this her fault?
Joe moved his hand. If he was going to experience the disappointment of not touching her, he wanted to not touch something more worthwhile than her hand—lovely as it was. He brushed his fingers over her lips. Poppy’s eyes opened wide. Joe thought his heart was going to explode out of his chest and burst through Poppy’s ribs to kiss hers. He’d felt her and she’d felt him. Forget the no sex rule, his heart wasn’t the only thing about to explode.
“Joe?”
The wonder in her voice sent him straight into feral lust and rendered him speechless.
“You’re not real,” she whispered. “You can’t be touching me. I mean, I know I’ve been talking to you and we’ve been sleeping together and you come with me to work and you’ve been asking me why I don’t kill—”
Miss Blabbermouth stopped speaking when he touched her cheek again with the tip of his finger, then with his palm. Oh God, he could feel her silky, soft skin.
Poppy put her hand over his. “Oh fuck, I can feel you.” Her voice was almost inaudible. “You’re really here.”
Joe pulled her into his arms, hardly able to believe what was happening. It was enough to send him hard in an instant, except he was already hard and had been from the moment he’d seen her. He kissed her cheeks, eyes, nose, chin and at last, her lips. Her beautiful lips. Lips he might never have had the chance to kiss again. That thought clicked a switch in Joe’s head. They had to fuck now before he disappeared. Right now. Joe’s deft fingers worked on each button of her shirt, bottom to top, and pulled it from her shoulders as she wriggled free.
“Joe,” she gasped.
He was afraid to speak. She might disappear. Poppy tugged his T-shirt over his head, her fingers touched the scar left by the bullet and her breath hitched. Their lips still joined, tongues playing catch me, Joe wanted her breasts but worked on her pants. Poppy worked on his. They unpeeled each other like fruit. Speed was all important. Joe was desperate to have her naked body next to his before Desiree realized what he was doing and yanked him back to his new reality.
His cock had tented his boxers into an impressive pyramid. Well, Joe was impressed. Poppy had to hold his dick against his stomach to remove the damn underwear. Her bra flew off with one flick. He’d not lost his touch. Her nipples looked like red, midget, gem candy and just as edible. Joe bent his head to try one and at the same time pulled down her gray boy pants, the ones he hated because they covered too much of her luscious backside. He kicked them under the couch.
Finally, they were naked and Joe estimated it had taken less than ten seconds. She would come in two more and he would be lucky if he lasted another three.
“Joe.”
Every time Poppy groaned his name, Joe felt the pull at his groin. This time her voice drew a pearl of moisture up his shaft to bead on the tip of his cock. When she lowered her head and licked it away, Joe gripped her shoulders and pulled her up. Poppy would have him off in an instant with her hot mouth and he wanted to be inside her. He might not get a chance to do this again and he wasn’t wasting it by coming in her mouth, lovely as it was. He’d had a sudden vision of a heavenly horde rushing in, beating him around the head with their harps before dragging him away, maybe to throw him to the ones with horns, tails and heavy rock guitars.
Her hands stroked his back, caressed his muscles and squeezed his butt, fingers moving in a frantic need to touch every part of him. Joe knew that was how she felt, because he was overwhelmed by the same desperation. When she wasn’t whispering his name, her mouth was kissing, nipping, lapping and teasing. Forget the bed. Joe swung her onto the couch, hooked one of her legs over the back, and looking straight into her eyes, he made a long lunge into her—a deep, hard thrust that took him right to her core.
Joe couldn’t hold back the cry that burst from his lungs. It was one of relief, pleasure, of complete and utter joy. They were made for each other, her velvety sheath a perfect fit for his cock. Poppy’s muscles contracted around him as she came instantly, as he knew she would, writhing beneath him, thrusting her hips into his, biting her bottom lip, clutching his shoulders.
Her clenching muscles almost brought him off too. The effort of not following her into nirvana sent Joe’s heart rate into outer space but he knew if he gave her a moment, he’d bring her off again with him. He kept his dick still as Poppy floated back down and when her bright eyes looked at him, then he began to drive into her, pounding slams that shoved her closer and closer to the end of the couch, and him closer and closer to heaven or hell. Joe no longer cared which just so long as he got to come first.
“Poppy. Poppy.” Joe groaned into her hair, his balls drew up and he savored that delectable tightening sensation that swelled in his gut before he came. As her hot pussy gripped him, milked him, the head of his cock pulsed and his balls began to dance. Joe’s cock jerked, shooting jets of hot cum into her body. He trembled with the joy of it as Poppy gasped out his name.
For a moment, Joe thought the spasms would never end, then the last contraction gripped and faded, and he was left with a feeling of deep contentment as he slumped over Poppy’s lovely body.
It didn’t last long because a number of things began to move in a disturbing loop through Joe’s mind. He’d never had sex with Poppy before without a condom. He’d just bathed her pussy with his cum. Probably enough to play with a rubber duck in there. Did he need to use a condom now he was dead? He couldn’t get her pregnant, surely? God, sex without a condom felt so bloody good. When could he do it again?
Joe rolled so that Poppy lay on top of him. He was still inside her, still semihard, unsure how that was possible. Maybe the thought of no more sex had sent his dick into a feeding frenzy. Joe cradled her to his chest, slid his hands onto her backside and held her tight against him. He exhaled against her throat, and then breathed in her scent, some lemony essence mixed with that unique Poppy musk that made his heart hum with joy.
His finger slid down the crease of her bottom and he stroked where his cock entered her body. Joe felt like he could come again without even moving. If he just thought about it, thought about how great this felt, how they were a perfect fit, he’d erupt inside her. She’d come too. He knew her body better than any woman he’d fucked and there had been a few. When asked for a list of his hobbies, sex featured at the top. Had featured. What had Desiree said? Angels have great sex. Well, that was something to l
ook forward to. Joe ran his fingers down Poppy’s spine, tracing the ridges of her vertebrae. So why wasn’t he looking forward to it?
She pushed herself up. “Oh God, you didn’t use a condom.”
Joe decided it was better not to worry her. “I can’t get you pregnant.” He pulled her closer and kissed her nose. “That felt good, Pop. You feel good. Warm and tight around me, my cock snug in your cream. I can never get enough of you. I shouldn’t still be hard but all I can think about is fucking you again.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
Joe’s hands dropped from her back. He pressed his lips together. Why did she have to ruin it?
Poppy lifted her head from Joe’s chest to look at him. “Were you badly injured and didn’t want me to know? Is that why you can’t get me pregnant? Oh God, did you think you’d be paralyzed? Do you think I’d have cared?” Her voice rose and her cheeks tinged with red. “How could you do this? Six months, Joe! All this time I thought you were dead. I’ve been going crazy. I missed you so much I imagined you with me, telling me to kill myself. And all that time… Which hospital were you in? What the hell was the funeral about? Did you have to pretend you were dead because you’d been working undercover? What’s in the frigging urn?” She banged her fists on his chest. “Whose ashes do I have in my bathroom?”
Joe gazed at her in bewilderment and seized on the last thing she’d said. “Why do you have my ashes in the bathroom?”
“Because the shower is the only place I let myself cry. Have I been sobbing over cat litter?” Poppy gulped a mouthful of air. “I thought you were—”
He put his finger against her lips. “Poppy, shhhh. Listen to me. I haven’t been hiding anywhere. I wasn’t in hospital. I didn’t survive the fall. I’m dead.”
She stared into his eyes. “No, you’re not.”
Joe sighed. It went against the grain having to argue that he was bloody dead when he wanted to shout that he was alive, but he had to make her understand.
“I died when I fell, Pop.”
She gave a painful laugh that tore at his heart. “I thought I was crazy when I kept seeing you. Now we’ve fucked and I’m fucked because I can feel you inside me and I know I’m crazy.”
“I’m dead, Poppy.”
She shook her head. “No. I see you and hear you. I can feel you.” Her fingers squeezed his arms, her pussy clenched around his cock. “You can’t be dead. You’re warm. You smell like Joe. You feel like Joe. You fuck like Joe. You didn’t die.”
Joe ground his teeth together. Was she trying to deny what she’d done? Did she need to be reminded? “I fell fifty feet from a roof onto concrete. I died instantly.”
Poppy ran her hands across his chest, up his neck and cupped his face. “I don’t believe you.”
Joe eased out from under her and stood up. “Okay, I’ll prove it.”
He flexed his shoulders. Nothing happened. Joe twisted his elbows, did biceps curls, even tried shaking and flapping his arms, suspecting it looked like some seventies disco dance, but his wings stayed hidden. Poppy gazed up at him, confusion written all over her face. He was relieved she wasn’t laughing.
“What are you doing? Some sort of upper body yoga?” she asked.
Joe slumped on the couch and put his head in his hands. Maybe he’d lost the wings because he’d broken the no-sex rule. Ah well, he’d always wanted to learn to play the guitar. He felt Poppy’s hand on his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades. Her fingers dropped down his spine, then slid up to massage his neck. She laid her head against him and her lips replaced her hand. Joe relaxed into her touch.
The next moment, Poppy was under attack by a flock of feathers. Joe managed to avoid sweeping the fruit bowl off the coffee table, but Poppy’s crystal snow globe was not so lucky. It hit the wall and broke, splattering glitter in a sparkling monochromatic arc.
“Told you I was dead,” he said and started to sneeze.
Chapter Four
Poppy’s bewildered brain ached. One moment she’d wallowed in ecstasy, now she trembled in fear. She lay on her back on the floor looking up at Joe. This couldn’t be happening. Poppy scrambled to her feet. She’d had a brain fart. The last six months had been so difficult, she’d flipped big time.
“Poppy.”
Joe wasn’t here. He certainly wasn’t here with huge wings growing out of his back. I’ve lost it. She closed her eyes. Unable to stand the idea she’d never see him again, her imagination had taken things a stage further. Somehow she’d made him real enough to fuck. Poppy could feel the wetness between her thighs. Not him, just her cream. Her brain had taken a gigantic leap over the edge of reality and was flailing around in midair. The best thing to do was not look at him or speak to him because he wasn’t there.
Poppy opened her eyes. There was no smoky-eyed guy standing in front of her with gray wings sprouting from his back, wings so huge the light in the room had dimmed. A series of loud sneezes followed that thought.
Oh God, Joe’s allergic to feathers.
She’d have a cup of tea. Things always looked better after a cup of tea. Poppy walked into the kitchen, la-la-laaing in her head.
“Say something,” Joe said behind her.
Poppy switched on the kettle and used the remote to start the CD player. Katie Melua’s mellifluous voice filled the air. Poppy stifled a sob and turned up the volume. Joe was not into Katie Melua. She heard a tsk, the music cut off and Poppy flinched. She didn’t turn round.
“Poppy. I’m dead, but I’m here. Talk to me.”
She put her hands on the counter, leaned against a wall cupboard, and banged her head in rhythm with the words sounding in her brain. Not here. Not here. Not here.
Joe pulled her away and turned her round. She closed her eyes. His fingers lifted her chin. “Poppy. Open your eyes.”
When she looked at him, Poppy’s heart gave such a violent lurch she wondered if she was dying.
“I’m here,” he said. “I died, but I’m here.”
Poppy took a gulp of air. “I’m sorry. I tried to save you. I couldn’t hold on to you.”
“I told you to stay where you were, not to come onto the roof. You should have done as you were told.”
The bitterness in his voice chilled her. She took a shuddery breath. “I saw the guy going up the stairs behind you. He had a gun in his hand.”
Poppy had gone over and over what happened that day. She and Graham had been on a routine foot patrol when a group of kids had come running up to tell them they’d kicked their ball over the security fence of a nearby warehouse.
“Help us get our ball back,” asked a boy with traffic-light-red hair. “The guy says he’ll let his dog out if we climb over.”
“Tough luck, ball retrieval isn’t in our list of duties,” Graham said. He leaned towards Poppy and added in a quiet voice, “Mind you, I wouldn’t mind you retrieving my balls.”
“Got a magnifying glass?” she asked and received a glare in return.
The kids wandered away, kicking a stone along the ground. Before Graham could stop her, Poppy marched up to the warehouse and rang the bell.
Joe opened the door. He looked as stunned to see Poppy as she was to see him. She knew he worked undercover, but no more than that. With enough sense not to reveal she knew him, she began to stumble through the reason they were there, when a well-built man with short gray hair appeared behind Joe and asked in a polite voice that she and Graham come in. The next moment, they were surrounded and shoved into an office at gunpoint.
While guns were waved in their direction, an Asian guy confiscated their radios and fastened their wrists to a pipe with their handcuffs. There was a lot of arguing, Joe’s voice loud and insistent, but when Poppy saw his face she knew they were in trouble.
The gray-haired guy held a radio at Graham’s mouth and a gun at Poppy’s head. “Tell them you’re taking a break.”
While Graham was speaking, Joe spoke to Poppy. “How old are you? Thirty-two? Thirty-five?”
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“Forty,” Poppy responded. “Too old for you.”
She knew Joe well enough to play his game, and hoped if the dispatcher on the other end of the radio had heard, they also knew abbreviated American police codes for person with gun, major crime alert and Poppy’s reply—respond quickly. Before he left the room, Joe whispered to Poppy—”Stay put.”
Dislocating her thumbs was her party trick and almost before the door was closed, Poppy squeezed her hand free. Graham told her to stay put too, but she’d ignored him as well. Of course, now she wished she hadn’t.
Poppy sat at the kitchen table and watched a winged Joe make her a cup of tea. He stuck the tea bag in cold milk. He still had his bad habits.
“Why did you think Buxton would shoot me?” Joe asked.
“Something was wrong. He overreacted. We’d only come about a football. He could have listened and sent us on our way but he chose not to. Maybe he saw a spark of recognition in my eyes when I looked at you.” Poppy swallowed hard. “Or maybe it was the way he watched you look at me. It was just a gut instinct but I thought he’d guessed you were a cop. I wanted to warn you.”
Joe sighed. “It didn’t strike you that by eyeing you up, I was staying in role?”
Poppy’s shoulders slumped. She didn’t think she’d been wrong, but Buxton had never been apprehended. He was thought to have fled the country after Joe had been killed.
“What happened after I left you handcuffed to the pipe?”
“I heard you going up the stairs and followed. Buxton told you to look down onto Regis Street to make sure there were no other cops around and when you leaned over the edge of the roof, he raised his gun. I couldn’t just let things happen, so I shouted at him to throw down his weapon.”
“Instead, he shot me.”
Poppy’s mouth was dry, her heart going berserk, jerking around in her chest like her brain had it on strings.
“He hadn’t guessed I was a cop,” Joe said. “The prick was always flashing his gun, waving it around like his cock. What the hell were you thinking, Poppy?”
Power of Love Page 4