Crosses the room in three long strides, stops in front of me, and before I can ask what the hell he’s doing—he scoops me up.
“Turner—!”
I yelp, my hands grabbing his shoulders as he lifts me like I weigh nothing, dropping me in the middle of the bed.
I blink up at him as he looms over me—big, broad, shirt slightly rumpled, jaw clenched. Eyes on me… as if he wants to devour me. Like it’s been driving him wild all morning.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, even though I already know. “The agent might come back.”
He braces one knee on the mattress, hand planted beside my hip, leaning in close—too close—until all I can see is him.
“You’re really going to move into this place and sleep in a room like this without knowing what it’s like to have me fuck you in it?”
Then.
He kisses me.
Hard. Intentional. Like he’s staking a claim. Like this model bedroom is the hill he’s willing to die on.
His hand slides to my waist, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt like he’s holding onto more than just me. Like he’s trying to anchor both of us to this moment before the real-world rushes back in.
I kiss him back.
How could I not?
I let out a quiet gasp when his thumb brushes the skin just under my shirt, and he groans like that sound alone might undo him.
“Poppy,” he murmurs against my lips. “Don’t do it. Don’t sign this lease.”
The words land between us like a live wire.
I look up at him, the feel of his whiskers still tingling against my cheeks as his warm hand moves under my shirt, thumb stroking above the waistband of my jeans.
“Poppy,” he says again, quieter this time. Like it hurts. Like saying my name is a full-body event. “Don’t do it.”
His mouth finds mine again—softer now. Slower. Like he’s trying to rewrite every stupid thing we haven’t said by kissing me just right.
His hand slips higher.
Over my ribs, up my side, every inch of skin lit up like a power line…
“Don’t move. I’ll miss you—the dog will miss you,” he breathes against my neck, voice thick and desperate. “Not yet. Stay.”
Stay.
Not: stay with me.
Just… stay.
As if I don’t move out of the house, none of this has to change.
His hand pauses beneath my bra, fingers flexing like he wants to say more with touch than he can with words.
I breathe out. “You’re making this really difficult.”
“I know, I know,” he murmurs, eyes closed. “I can’t believe you’re leaving because of logistics and it’s not the worst fucking idea you’ve ever had.”
“I didn’t think you’d care this much,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out.
