Hideaway at Silver Lake by Jennifer Greene

Author:Jennifer Greene
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2022-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

WHEN SAM ZOOMED into her driveway after three, he was startled to see a red car parked behind Poppy’s.

Startled—and immediately wary.

Bubbles let out a woof, as if asking why he was suddenly backing out of the driveway, when both of them wanted to see Poppy.

“If we park behind the red car, we’ll be boxing it in,” he explained to the dog. “So we’re going to back out and park on the street. Sit down.”

Bubbles didn’t want to sit down or settle down. Neither did Sam. He felt unexpectedly nervous about seeing Poppy this afternoon. He’d even done the rare spit-and-shine preparing for this visit—a decent navy-blue sweater, jeans with no holes, even shaved twice. He wanted her to know that he hadn’t taken last night lightly. He wanted to be with her. Really with her.

All morning, while he helped Conan string Christmas lights, he thought of last night. The yearning in her eyes, the shyness—and then her wild, sweet yielding when they came together. He still remembered her shush of a sigh after. Her moonlit smile.

But now, he was counting on seeing her again, after an interminably long morning. The red car in her driveway quelled all that anticipation and replaced it with plain old worry.

Poppy wasn’t expecting visitors. No one was supposed to know where she was. She didn’t know anyone here. No one knew her, except for his brothers.

“Come on, Bubb.” He didn’t need to ask. Bubbles vaulted over his lap as soon as the door opened. They hiked up her drive.

If someone—anyone—had tracked down Poppy to take advantage of her again, they were about to get a rude awakening.

Another look at the stranger’s car was slightly—slightly—reassuring. The sturdy red Ford looked more like a teacher’s car than a troublemaker’s, but looks could be deceiving. He couldn’t claim to guess what kind of a car a varmint or criminal or troublemaker might drive. It did seem slightly iffy that a serial killer would have gone to the trouble of washing and waxing the car in snowy, slushy weather.

Still. That was common sense thinking. Sam wasn’t into common sense just then. He was into Poppy. No one was going to hurt her again. Not if he could help it.

He thumped on the back door, Bubbles standing at attention next to him.

When the door opened, he took one look and instantly realized that his odds of making love to Poppy today were about a zillion to one. If that high.

Without question, the two women who’d scrambled to answer the door were Poppy’s sisters. They didn’t look exactly like her, but they had the same thick dark-copper hair, the same small bones, the same pretty skin and sassy eyes, the same explosive feminine energy. They greeted him with huge welcoming smiles—as if they couldn’t be more delighted to see him.

He wanted to swipe a hand over his face. It was downright impossible to think of them as anyone’s enemy—but he told himself to toughen up. These were the two key people who demanded more from Poppy than she could possibly give.

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