Eyes darkening possessively, Trace gave her waist an affectionate squeeze. “Surprised ya, huh?” he whispered back.
And then some, Poppy thought, still tingling from his recklessly impulsive kiss.
“You look so beautiful,” he said, his eyes twinkling with delight.
Poppy grinned, aware he wasn’t the only one who’d had his breath taken away. “Right back at you, Lieutenant,” she murmured happily.
Then all was taken up by the formalities of greeting their guests. And it wasn’t until the two of them had dashed down the church steps, through a shower of bird seed and well-wishes, and were sharing the limo to the reception that Poppy finally had the chance to talk with him privately. “I gather this is why I haven’t heard from you in two days?”
Trace ran a hand beneath his closely shaved jaw. “I was on standby on several of the flights, so I wasn’t entirely sure I was going to make it in time for the ceremony.”
“But you did make it.” And he’d obviously found time to shower, too, she noted, the joy she had felt upon seeing him in the flesh still staggering in its intensity.
“It appears the only thing most folks love more than an impromptu wedding that needs all the help it can muster to be pulled off, is one between an active-duty airman and his bride.”
Poppy knew that was true. There was something about star-crossed lovers that appealed to just about everyone. Star-crossed lovers in the military, even more. Still...
She studied the just-cut perfection of his short, sandy-blond hair. “Why did you come?” Especially when he had never so much as hinted that it was a possibility.
A shadow crossed his face and he hesitated, as if not sure how to respond. Finally he said, “You seemed so overwhelmed when we last Skyped. I thought you might have trouble handling all this on your own.”
Disappointment jabbed her in the stomach, putting to rest any of the wildly romantic notions she’d had when she had walked into the church and seen him standing next to the minister.
Poppy gathered her thoughts slowly. “So you came to rescue me?” And not because he had suddenly discovered he was madly in love with her, as she knew everyone else who had witnessed their nuptials was probably thinking. But because he was her good friend. And friends helped each other out.
He nodded. “Turns out it was a lot easier to get permission to use some of the leave I’d accumulated than to push a proxy marriage request through military channels in the swift time frame you needed.”
Poppy stared at him in confusion. “But you did manage it! Liz Cartwright-Anderson showed me the paperwork this morning.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know if it would come through or not when I left a couple of days ago. At that point, the request was still in limbo. So to make sure the pending adoption went smoothly, I called in every marker I could.”
“And came back to Texas.”
He shrugged, as if it were no big deal. When she knew darn well it was a very big deal. “I haven’t spent the holidays Stateside in years.”
Mainly, she thought sympathetically, because he hated being caught up in the midst of his own quarreling family.
“Well, here’s hoping that this yuletide will be memorable,” Poppy said softly.
“I have a feeling it will be.” He took her hand in his and examined the wedding band. He didn’t have one, because she hadn’t expected him to actually be there. Thus they had forgone that part of the ceremony.
Winking at her, he drawled, “At any rate, we’re married now.”
Clearly, from the joking way he’d said it, it didn’t mean much, if anything at all. That was good. Wasn’t it?
Poppy swallowed around the sudden constriction of her throat. Honestly, the pending adoption plus all this chaos had her brimming with unchecked emotions.
Bypassing what she normally would have done at this point in one of their private reunions—climb onto his lap and really show him how glad she was to see him—Poppy stayed right where she was. Maintaining her ladylike demeanor, she met his eyes and asked casually, “So how much time do you have?”
Oblivious to how fast and hard her heart was beating, he flexed his shoulders beneath the formal blue uniform coat. “Total? Thirty days. Of which I’ve already used two.”
Trying not to dwell on how much she really would like to forget about the reception and kiss him again, Poppy quickly did the math. “So...twenty-eight.” Compared to what short time they usually got—this visit was going to last forever! And yet compared to what she really wanted—Trace stationed somewhere close enough they could see each other all the time—not nearly enough.
His hazel eyes twinkled down at her. “Of course, I’ll need a couple of days of that for travel time when I head back to the Middle East. But I’ll be here for Christmas. And the birth of the twins,” he promised as the limo reached the hotel where the reception was to be held.
It had all worked out perfectly, Poppy thought. So, then, why wasn’t she happier?
Chapter Three
“I’m so sorry your father didn’t show up tonight,” Bitsy, Trace’s mother, told him two hours later as he and Poppy came off the dance floor. “I mean, I knew he’d ditch the ceremony,” the gregarious San Antonio society florist declared unhappily. “That’s just the kind of heartless man Calvin is. But I thought for certain he would make the reception.”
Not sure what to say, Poppy did her best not to react to the bitterness in her new mother-in-law’s voice.
Trace hugged his diminutive, platinum-haired mother. “It’s okay, Mom. It was short notice. I’ll catch up with Dad before I leave the States.”
Bitsy gave Poppy another warm hug. “Well, just so you know, dear, I’m so glad the two of you have finally come to your senses and made it official.”
Trace scowled. “Mom...”
Bitsy straightened the hem of her beaded jacket. “Oh, hush. The two of you have essentially been married—albeit long distance—for years now. Even though you won’t admit it, everyone knows you’re head-over-heels in love. Isn’t that why you finally decided to adopt a child together?”
Uh, not exactly, Poppy thought.
“What I don’t understand is why you’re not trying for a baby the old-fashioned way.”
Actually, they had been, although that was a secret, Poppy thought.
“Unless you’re worried the distance imposed on you by Trace’s stint in the military will make conception all but impossible,” Bitsy finished practically.
“Mom, I am not discussing this with you,” Trace said firmly.
Make that me, either, Poppy thought.
Bitsy peered up at him. “But you do admit you want a baby with Poppy—badly?”
And I want one with him. Badly, as it were, Poppy noted. But just because they each wanted a family, and were willing to have one together, did not mean they were “essentially married,” never mind head-over-heels in love.
Exhaling roughly, Trace rubbed at the muscles in the back of his neck, reminding Poppy that the only thing he hated more than having his life choices dissed or second-guessed, was to have someone assign emotions to him that he did not feel.
“Ah, it’s not just one. It’s twins, Mom,” he said.
“Oh.” Bitsy paused in the act of adjusting a diamond earring, as if not sure what to make of that. “Well, that’s wonderful,” she said finally. Spying her latest beau, Donald Olson—a commercial Realtor from San Angelo, who was now first in line at the open bar—she waved and started to glide off. “Just make sure the little darlings call me Bitsy, not anything grandmother-ish.” She smiled over her shoulder.
“Will do,” Poppy promised.
Trace bent to whisper in her ear. “Maybe if we head back to the dance floor, we won’t have to endure so many blasted questions and theories and...”
> “Advice?” Poppy quipped as she slipped her hand into his. “Don’t forget, we’ve been getting plenty of that, too. Like ‘don’t let the sun go down on your anger.’ Or ‘make-up sex is the best.’”
Which was ironic, since she and Trace never, ever quarreled.
Trace whisked her into the crowd of swaying couples. Hand against her spine, he brought her as close as the full skirt of her wedding gown would allow. “My favorite is, ‘never miss a chance to hold her in your arms.’”
Poppy let her body sway to the beat of the music, relaxing now that the big ‘romantic’ moments were finished. Their first dance, the toasts, the cake-cutting and endless picture-taking.
All of which had prompted an extended trip down memory lane. “Remember our very first dance?” Poppy tipped her head up to his as one of their favorite songs, the hopelessly romantic ballad “Wherever You Will Go” began.
His eyes crinkled at the corners, before making a wickedly provocative tour down her body. “The senior prom? You quarreled with your date a few days before...”
Reveling in the cozy feel of his hand clasping hers, and the even more possessive look in his eyes, Poppy let out a quavering breath. “So he ended up taking someone else.”
Trace nodded, recollecting fondly, “And I stepped in, as your friend.”
She’d come very close to falling head-over-heels in love with him that night. But knowing how he felt about romance in general, and infatuation specifically, had come to her senses in time to preserve their growing friendship and keep things light and easy. To the point they hadn’t even shared a goodnight kiss, when he’d finally dropped her at her front door at dawn.
“And you’re still doing it.”
The slow song ended. A faster up-tempo one began.
Trace offered a mock salute, brought her hand up over her head and twirled her around to the lively beat. “My pleasure, ma’am.”
“That’s Captain Ma’am to you,” she teased as he tugged her back into his arms then spun her out again, dipping her backward.
“Outrank me, huh?” His low voice radiated the kind of easy joy she always felt when they were together.
Doing her best to rein in her reckless heart, she admitted, “In some things...” Although at this moment she couldn’t think what. Not when she was matching her steps to his in the energetic beat and wearing a wedding ring he’d slid onto her finger. Had he ever looked more devastatingly handsome, more inclined to just have fun?
Even though the rational side of her knew this was all a formality, undertaken for the best of reasons—the babies they were soon to adopt—she couldn’t help but be swept up in the moment as the song ended and another much slower, sultrier one began.
Clueless to the hopelessly conflicted nature of her thoughts, Trace pulled her in tight against him.
Their bodies swaying as if they were made for each other, he drawled, “Well, then, Captain Ma’am—” with the pad of his thumb, he traced the curve of her lower lip and looked deeply into her eyes “—I guess I’ll just have to do what you say...”
* * *
TRACE HAD BEEN kidding when he said he’d follow her orders. But hours later, when she first laid down the law, he realized by her hands-off expression that she hadn’t been.
He stared at her in disbelief. She’d been getting more distant as the night wore on. He’d attributed it to fatigue and the stress of allowing people to see only what they wanted to see.
“You want me to sleep in the guest room?” he repeated, sure he must have misunderstood what she meant. “On our wedding night?”
She headed through the upstairs hall of her cozy bungalow, the voluminous skirt of her white gown hiding the delectable shape of her hips and swishing lightly as she moved. Steadfastly avoiding his gaze and keeping her back to him all the while, she stood on tiptoe to reach the top shelf of the linen closet at the end of the short hall, trying but failing repeatedly to reach the stack of clean linens and pillows. “You have to understand.” She frowned, rocking back on her heels, her soft lips sliding out into a sexy pout. “I didn’t know you were coming home for the ceremony.”
What did that have to do with anything? When had it ever? One of the things he liked best about her was that she was so easygoing and—usually—up for just about anything.
Not tonight.
He frowned. His presence was supposed to be a happy surprise, not cause for complaint. “I don’t get it.”
She lifted a desultory hand and waved it in the direction of the master suite. “My bedroom’s a mess.”
He cast a look over his shoulder. That much was true. Not only did the elegant retreat look as if a tornado had gone through it, spilling everything from lacey undergarments to high heels in its wake, but there was a good deal of Christmas stuff, too. Gift catalogs. Lists. Even what appeared to be the makings for homemade holiday cards and ornaments.
Not about to be sidetracked, when he had missed her so damn much, he caught her around the waist. Anxious to make up for lost time now that they were finally alone, he trailed a string of kisses down her silky-soft neck. Lingered at the sensitive place behind her ear. Felt her quiver in response. Satisfaction roared through him.
“So we’ll throw a few pillows on the floor,” he teased, reaching for the zipper of her dress.
Stiffening, she wedged her elbows between them. “No.” She wiggled free. “Trace...”
Not about to push her into anything, he dropped his arms and stepped back. Looked down into her face. “What’s wrong?”
Her dark brown eyes took on a troubled sheen. She brushed past him into the mess that was her bedroom. “When we agreed to get married, we said this wouldn’t change anything.”
He followed lazily, making sure to give her the space she wanted. Lounging against the bureau, he surveyed the soft blush flooding her cheeks. The turmoil twisting her sweet lips. “You not wanting to make love with me is definitely a change.”
Hand on the bed, Poppy bent to remove her high heels. “Don’t you see?” She let her skirt fall back into place, but not before he’d gotten a tantalizing glimpse of her long legs.
Trace felt his body harden in response.
Poppy shook her head. “After everything we’ve just been through the past six hours—”
“Seven,” he corrected. That was way too long. Usually, after months apart, they were in bed within minutes of reconnecting, which was why they usually met up at a hotel first.
Poppy frowned. “Okay, seven hours,” she corrected with an exasperated scowl. “If we were to make love now after all of that...”
He saw where she was going. “The vows?”
She nodded in what abruptly seemed like regret. “And the toasts and the cake-cutting and the first dance.” She went around the room, snatching up discarded clothing and stuffed it into the hamper so the lacy unmentionables were out of view. Whirling to face him, she swallowed. “Can’t you see it would be too confusing?”
For her maybe. Not for him.
With effort, he ignored the ache in his groin. “It doesn’t have to be,” he said. As far as he was concerned, vows or not, absolutely nothing between them had changed. They were still free to do whatever and to be whomever they wanted.
She folded her arms beneath the inviting lushness of her breasts. “Right now, everything feels pretty traditional. And you’ve never wanted that. And...” She hesitated slightly before continuing even more stalwartly. “Neither have I.”
Once again their gazes collided.
As was their custom, neither wanted to be the first to look away.
He jerked off his bow tie and loosened the first couple of buttons on his shirt. “So what are you telling me?” he rasped. Feeling pretty damn stifled, he let his uniform jacket go by the wayside, too. “That now that it’s properly sanctioned, we�
�ll never hook up again?”
She blushed at the ridiculousness of that notion.
“Of course we will,” she said softly, her desire for him momentarily shining through. She paused to wet her lips; her defenses sliding stubbornly back into place. “Just not tonight. Not when we’re both so tired. And confused.”
Trace was confused, all right. He’d pulled every string it was possible to pull, and come an awfully long way, to get turned down cold. On their wedding night, no less!
Sweeping past him, she went back to trying to get the stack of linens off the top shelf. Stumbling slightly, she managed to grab hold of the bottom corner and pull them toward her.
He caught her in his arms as she caught the linens in hers.
Inhaled the sweet fragrance of her hair and skin.
Felt another tidal wave of desire ripple through him.
Damn if he didn’t want her all over again.
That was, assuming he had ever stopped.
Which, of course, he hadn’t.
“Thanks.” Arms full, she wiggled free, pivoted and rustled toward the only other bedroom on the top floor of her bungalow.
Currently a home office, it also housed a sofa bed for guests.
When he visited her in Laramie and bunked at her place, it was always opened up and the covers dutifully rumpled every morning. But only for show. In case someone in her family happened to drop by, unannounced.
Although he doubted anyone really believed they were, or had ever been, just good friends.
No, his place was in her very comfy queen-size bed. Like her, sans clothes.
But, apparently, not tonight.
* * *
POPPY KNEW SHE was disappointing Trace. But, really, she reckoned as she entered the guest room to make up the bed while he went downstairs to get his suitcase, she was doing them both a favor, giving them each a little breathing room.
The last thing she had ever wanted was for him to feel as trapped as his dad apparently had, whenever he was married, or to ever do anything that would spoil their relationship.
Lone Star Twins Page 3