Kissing Cousins Read online

  “Wh-what do you mean?” she asked. Was he still referring to their blissful hours in Good Ol’ Days? She wasn’t sure. Nervously, she reached into her pocket and withdrew her lip gloss. With one trembling ring finger, she smoothed the shiny substance over her lips and waited for his answer.

  “You know, the other night when we were—you know—checking that item off your list, so to speak,” he said. He rolled onto his side, propped himself on one elbow, and asked, “You remember that, don’t you, Poppy?”

  “Are you teasing me?” she asked. Her heart had begun to ache a little—fearful he was going to make fun of her for having put him on her list.

  “No,” he said. “I just want to make sure you remember it happened.”

  “Yes, Swaggart,” she told him, trembling with nerves and embarrassment.

  “Well, you did something during our…our time together. You hit a big nerve I didn’t even know I had—and I’m guessing you didn’t know it. Actually, you did it once before that—that was the first time I noticed it,” he said.

  Poppy applied more lip gloss. She didn’t need more, but she was nervous.

  “What kind is this?” Swaggart asked, sitting up and taking the lip gloss from her. He sniffed it and asked, “Strawberry?”

  “Raspberry,” she told him snatching the small plastic jar from him and screwing the lid back on before shoving it into her pocket. “S-so what’s this nerve I apparently hit without knowing?” she stammered. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

  “Do you know—speaking of that list of yours—I thought of something just now that I’ve always wanted to do,” he said.

  “You’re changing the subject,” Poppy accused. She couldn’t help but smile at him—he was so obviously trying to avoid telling her what nerve she’d hit.

  He chuckled and hopped off the pickup. “Here,” he said, taking hold of her arm and tugging. “Come here.”

  Poppy moved to his side of the pickup’s hood, delighted when he put his hands at her waist and lifted her down.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Do you know what I’ve always wanted to do?” he asked.

  “What’s that?”

  Poppy gasped as Swaggart pushed her back against the cab of his pickup, taking her face between his hands.

  “Take that lip gloss right off your pretty little lips,” he mumbled an instant before his mouth captured hers in a moist, heated, and very driven kiss.

  The lip gloss Poppy had so freshly applied filled her mouth with the flavor of raspberries, and she wished she hadn’t used so much—wished she could simply savor the natural taste of Swaggart’s kiss. As he pulled her into his arms, however—wrapping her in their strength, the power of his body and the warm, smooth sense of his skin against her, protecting her against the cooling night air—the light flavor of raspberry dissipated, wonderfully replaced by the hot, moist flavor of Swaggart Moretti’s mouth.

  He kissed her breathless—until the butterflies in her stomach were in a winged uproar—until her knees were weak and her arms ached from wanting to hold him tighter. When he broke the seal of their lips, Poppy inhaled a deep gasp of air—yet preferring to have fainted rather than give up the feel of his mouth commanding her own.

  “Delicious,” Swaggart mumbled. His eyes narrowed as the warm syrup of them looked at her.

  “It’s raspberry,” Poppy breathlessly corrected. She smiled as she looked up at him to see the remnants of lip gloss shine on his lips and around his mouth. Her stomach looped at the knowledge her lip gloss was on his mouth because he’d just kissed her. She was self-conscious under his gaze and wiped at the remaining lip gloss on her own lips with her fingertips.

  “I didn’t mean the raspberry,” he said, and Poppy smiled as he wiped his mouth with the back of one strong hand. “I meant you.”

  Poppy was certain her heart swelled to ten times its normal size! Standing before him, being held against him, gazing up into his perfectly handsome face, she struggled to breathe normally. Goose bumps rippled over her body as Swaggart slowly caressed her arms with his strong hands. Poppy could feel the calluses on his hands as they traveled over her arms, and the sensation only served to enliven her more.

  “Still want to know what that nerve was you hit the other night?” Swaggart asked, his voice low, alluring, exciting.

  “Yeah,” Poppy breathed. She only wanted to melt to him—feel her body wrapped in his arms, his kiss raining passion and bliss upon her.

  “Well, I’m a little too shy to tell you,” he whispered. “The only way you’ll ever find out is to spend another hour kissing me.”

  “Okay,” she breathed. She felt entirely intoxicated, absolutely hypnotized by the alluring expression in his eyes.

  Swaggart smiled at her as he gathered her into his arms. “Okay, baby,” he whispered. “But you better pay attention—or you might miss it when you do hit that nerve.”

  As Swaggart’s mouth took her own, Poppy felt tears spring to her eyes—her emotions in an utter turmoil of bliss, confusion, and something like panic. Swaggart’s kiss, his arms around her, the scent of him, the feel of his smooth skin and of his whiskers against her cheek—it was heaven! It was the only thing she ever wanted to do again—kiss him! Yet a tear trickled from one corner of her eye as she wondered how she would ever find the desire to kiss anyone else ever again! How could she go out with Mark on Thursday when all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around Swaggart and kiss him forever? What if kissing him again—spending another hour relishing his affections—what if it really did ruin her, keep her from ever being able to love another man?

  Another tear escaped Poppy’s eye as she realized then—admitted to herself—she was still in love with Swaggart Moretti! She’d loved him for years—talked herself into believing she did not—but she did! She’d loved him before he’d ever kissed her that night in Good Ol’ Days—she loved him now! Her heart soared as she let her arms travel over the solid muscles of his chest. It broke as she caressed the breadth of his shoulders, and it silently cried out to belong to him as her hands were lost in the softness of his hair.

  Poppy gasped slightly as Swaggart’s embrace suddenly tightened, his mouth crushing her own with a ravenous passion! He broke the seal of their lips, his mouth taking respite in the flesh of her throat as she tried to draw a regulated breath. Poppy let her hands fist where they rested in Swaggart’s hair. Instantly, his mouth left her neck and captured her mouth.

  Mid the passion raging between them, a somewhat rational thought managed to strike her suddenly: it was his hair. Her fingers in his hair—it was the good nerve he hinted about—the one she’d unknowingly hit before! She was certain of it by the way it seemed to drive him into passionate madness. Poppy wrapped her arms around his neck, enchanted by the sudden realization. Running her hands from the back of his neck, up through his hair, Poppy giggled as Swaggart wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet and increasing the intensity of their kiss.

  “I know what it is,” Poppy breathed as his embrace finally relaxed, allowing her to stand again.

  “What?” he mumbled, kissing her softly several times in succession.

  Poppy stopped his affectionate aggression by taking his face between her hands and caressing his lips with her thumbs. “It’s your hair,” she whispered. “You like to have fingers run through your hair.”

  He grinned and said, “I like to have your fingers run through my hair.”

  He leaned forward, kissing her softly, tenderly toying with her lips. He blew into her mouth, and the gesture sent a rapturous thrill traveling through her. She trembled when he did it again a moment before pressing his lips to hers in a soft, lingering kiss. Poppy quivered as goose bumps erupted over every inch of her flesh, as the butterflies fighting for space in her stomach caused her breath to catch.

  “Wow,” she heard Swaggart breathe in unison with her own breathy exclamation.

  Poppy Amore was in trouble, and she didn’t even know it. S
waggart knew it, however, and he struggled to keep his physical desires for Poppy in check. What he wanted to do and what he would allow himself to do were two different things. For the moment he was simply glad she found him attractive enough to let him kiss her—grateful she liked him enough to kiss him back. He grimaced, hoping Whitney was right and that the only kiss the Mark guy had enjoyed where Poppy was concerned was the polite, good-night kiss kind.

  As Swaggart felt Poppy pull herself more snugly against him, sigh as he deepened their kiss, he tried to convince himself she liked him more than she did Mr. Romeo Advertising Executive. Surely it was true. If that guy had only managed a good-night peck so far and Swaggart had twice managed to coax her into such passion as they were exchanging at that moment—he had to have the upper hand. Didn’t he?

  Poppy was so sweet, so beautiful, so clever and kind—far too good for the likes of Swaggart Moretti. Yet he wanted her, and he worried he wouldn’t be able to give her up if this Mark guy turned out to be what was best for her.

  Again her hands found their way to his hair. Inhaling a deep breath of self-control, he ground his mouth to hers, unable to satisfy his thirst for her. Forget what was best for her! At that moment, she was in his arms, kissing him, and he would enjoy it!

  Poppy’s lips hurt, her heart ached inside her chest—worn out from the constant elation she was experiencing in Swaggart’s arms—but she didn’t care. She loved the feel of the rough calluses on his hands against her cheeks, the euphoric sensation he sent racing through her each time he kissed her neck.

  “You all right, baby?” he asked in a whisper.

  “I’m fine,” she breathed. She loved when he called her “baby”! She liked to imagine that he always would call her baby—that she’d walk into the restaurant to work the next day and he’d say, “Hey, baby,” as a greeting.

  Poppy knew she was only daydreaming, however—and some dreams were just too impossible to come true. Still, as she stood there, her back pressed against Swaggart Moretti’s pickup door, her front pressed up against Swaggart Moretti himself—she dared to dream it could come true. She’d worry about reality in the morning. For the moment, she’d allow herself to bathe in the wonder of belonging to Swaggart—even if it was a fleeting thing.

  *

  Poppy pressed one to hear the message again.

  “Hey there, beautiful…it’s Mark. The VPs are sending me to Chicago this week, so we won’t be able to go to the Comedy Corner on Thursday night...but I want to make it up to you. I bought us two tickets to this huge charity gala dinner thing on Saturday. It starts at six thirty, and it’s all black tie and formal. The food will be really good, and they’ve got some great live entertainment lined up. So we’ll go to that instead, okay? Be sure you can get work off for it…again, it’s Saturday. Give me a call in the morning. I’m yours, you know.”

  Though the hour was late, so many thoughts were rattling around in Poppy’s head that it ached! She thought of the way Swaggart had told her he always wanted to take the lip gloss off her lips and then kissed her—Mark, she realized now, had wiped the lip gloss off with his thumb before kissing her. Swaggart had simply used his hand to wipe the residual lip gloss off his lips, while Mark had been upset about a mud stain on his shirt. Swaggart had gotten down and dirty with the garbage disposal, never pausing to question what needed to be done to fix it. Mark had said to call a plumber—had cringed at the idea of sticking his hand down the sink to fix it. Mark’s hands were soft when he’d held her face to kiss her good night—but Swaggart’s strong, callused ones felt a million times better against her skin.

  Brushing a tear from her cheek, Poppy consciously admitted to herself—she’d loved Swaggart forever, and he was, and always would be, her dream man. Mark was kind, polite, gorgeous, and very attentive, but Swaggart was still the perfect man of Poppy’s dreams—whether she could ever have a chance of owning him or not.

  “You sure got in late, Pops,” Whitney said, sitting down next to Poppy on the couch. “And you look a little stressed. What’s wrong?”

  Poppy let a tear trickle over her cheek—the warmth of Swaggart’s arms, the taste of his kiss still fresh to her senses. She turned off her cell phone and sat it on the arm of the couch.

  “Nothing,” she said. “It’s just…I realized tonight that, for the rest of my life, I’d rather stand on the street outside the bakery window and stare at the peach pie on the other side than settle for the slice of apple pie in my hand.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Through the whole of the next day, Poppy was entirely distracted. She even made two order mistakes! She couldn’t seem to keep her mind on work—especially with drop-dead-gorgeous Swaggart Moretti in the kitchen. She had to tell Mark—somehow she had to tell him she couldn’t see him anymore. Oh, sure she knew it was impossible to ever own Swaggart. Yet the previous night, spent gazing at the stars from the hood of his pickup and kissing him for over an hour afterward—she knew she couldn’t go out with Mark anymore. She didn’t want to. Maybe she couldn’t ever have Swaggart—the whole peach pie—but she’d still rather dream about the peach pie from outside the bakery window than settle for the apple pie readily available. Besides, it wasn’t fair to Mark—dating him when she knew she could never give her heart to him.

  But how would she tell him? What would she tell him? She couldn’t very well say, “Mark—I can’t go out with you because I’m in love with Swaggart.” She couldn’t tell Mark he was less attractive to her because he didn’t have enough calluses on his hands or because he wasn’t willing to try to get her quarter out of the garbage disposal. It was a terrible dilemma. Poppy had decided to go ahead and go with Mark to the gala dinner thing on Saturday—he’d already invested in tickets, and besides, maybe an opportunity to be honest with him would arise. She could only hope. Either way, she knew it would be her last date with him. Was she making a mistake? Perhaps, but it didn’t matter—she loved Swaggart.

  And then there was Swaggart himself! Every time she had to put in an order, or pick one up, she thought she was going faint, tremble to death, or scream! To Poppy, he seemed more gorgeous, more charismatic, and more the object of her obsession than ever before. Yet nothing seemed to have changed in the way he treated her at work—he still smiled and winked at her like he always had—still teased her. Poppy couldn’t understand how he could appear so calm, cool, and collected when her insides were freaking out! Then again, maybe he wasn’t as calm and cool as he appeared to be. Still, every time she looked at him, her mouth watered or she got goose bumps—or both. How would she manage to keep from being distracted at work? How would she manage to keep from throwing herself into his arms and begging him to love her in return?

  With so much turmoil in her mind and body, Poppy was relieved when her lunch hour finally arrived. Finding an empty table near the fountain in the gardens behind the restaurant, she sat down, her plate heaping with Swaggart’s seasoned steak fries and a Jiggy burger. Such a big meal would threaten to make her pretty darn tired for the rest of the day, but she didn’t care—she wanted a good meal she could sink her teeth and her stress into.

  “Mind if I eat lunch with you?” Swaggart asked, just as Poppy dipped her first fry into the small bowl of ranch dressing on her plate.

  “Of course not,” she said, nervously popping the entire steak fry into her mouth. How could she possibly eat now—with the man of her dreams sitting across from her, looking so wonderful and tempting?

  “You like that Jiggy burger?” Swaggart asked. Poppy smiled, realizing his plate was also heaped with a Jiggy burger and seasoned fries.

  “Yeah,” she said. “It’s my favorite.”

  “Mine too,” he said. Picking up a steak fry from his own plate, Poppy’s smile broadened as he reached across the table, dipping it in her ranch dressing before popping it into his mouth.

  Poppy sighed as she ate another fry. “Why is it called a Jiggy burger?” she asked. She’d often wondered about the strange name of Good Ol�
� Days’ most popular hamburger but had never before thought to ask anybody at the restaurant.

  Swaggart chuckled. “You won’t believe me if I tell you,” he said.

  “Yes, I will,” Poppy said. “Tell me.”

  He was gorgeous! Simply delicious! As she gazed at him casually lounging in the wrought-iron chair across the table from her, Poppy’s heart fluttered and her stomach began a cycle of its familiar looping.

  “There’s this song,” he began, “by Will Smith…”

  Poppy giggled, “You mean, ‘Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It’? You’re kidding me?”

  Swaggart smiled and shook his head. “Not kidding,” he said. “It was on the radio the first time I ever made this burger. Me and Bobby were messing around in the kitchen—you know, dancing around and being stupid to that song—and then I tasted the burger and…”

  “And the Jiggy burger was born,” Poppy laughed. “Unbelievable!”

  “Believe it, baby,” Swaggart said, eating another fry.

  Poppy held her breath for a moment—tried to remain calm—he’d called her baby again.

  “I like the cracked peppercorns in it,” Poppy told him.

  “Me, too,” Swaggart said. He leaned over his plate, picked up his Jiggy burger, and took a big bite. “Mmm! I still love it as much as the first time I ever made it.”

  Poppy smiled and took a bite of her own burger. It was so good! It never ceased to amaze her—the first bite of one of Swaggart’s Jiggy burgers. Cracked peppercorns, garlic, onion, and too many other flavors to identify, just in the meat alone. It was delicious!

  “So,” he said. “Whitney says you have a date with Mr. Wonderful on Thursday.”

  Poppy looked at him, studied him as he dipped another fry in her ranch dressing. Did he care? Did he want her to have another date with Mark—or did he not want her to have another date with Mark? What was going on between her and Swaggart? Was it just kissing—just two friends letting physical desire get the better of them? Not for her—she knew that. For her it was much, much more—an affair of the heart—one she’d been dreaming of for years. But what was it for Swaggart? He sat across from her, seeming as natural as ever—as if nothing unusual had ever happened between them. Did he care? Did he care for her—or was she just someone to kiss until his next girlfriend showed up?