“You’re my person here, Poppy. My one. I told you.” A moment stretches between us, pulled tight like the string of a kite caught on a gust of wind. Her eyes flash with need, and then I’m pressing my lips to hers, tipping her head back with urgency, desperate to taste all of her. Both her hands are at my shoulders, and she’s pulling me closer. Her mouth slants with mine as she returns my kiss. My kiss. I’m kissing Poppy St. James.
