Poppy’s Place in the Sun
By
Lorraine Wilson
Sometimes you need to
lose yourself to find your way home…
With only her trusty
dogs Peanut, Treacle and Pickwick by her side, Poppy Kirkbride could be
forgiven for having doubts about her move to a quiet village in rural France.
But as the sun shines down on her ramshackle new home, Poppy knows she’s made
the right decision. A lick of paint, and some TLC and her rustic farmhouse will
be the perfect holiday retreat – Poppy’s dream come true.
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Poppy is welcomed by
her fellow villagers, except for brooding local vet Leo Dubois, who makes it
clear Poppy isn’t welcome in his village – or his life! Leo might be gorgeous, but Poppy won’t be told what to do by an arrogant Frenchman – no matter how kind and gentle he is to her dogs!
Determined to stay,
Poppy tries to understand the enigmatic Frenchman better. But as the two get
closer, Poppy sees another side to Leo – a man with heartbreak of his own.
Falling in love with Leo is easy, but can he ever return Poppy's love?
And what
would this mean for her dream life and place in the sun?
‘She had me at Bonjour! Warm, funny,
deliciously French…this lovely story filled my heart with
sunshine’ Jane Linfoot
An extract to whet your appetite!
“Let me walk you back.”
“In case I
get lost?” I raise an eyebrow and would laugh if I hadn’t just got lost so
close to my own house. I’m never going to live that one down.
“Something
like that.” Leo grabs a torch and whistles to Maxi to follow him, he trots off
ahead of us, sniffing at the grass and pricking his ears up at the faint sound
of Peanut barking in the distance.
Leo rolls
his eyes at Maxi. “It must be love.”
“Must be,” I
reply lightly and my skin tingles when he takes my hand again.
He’s talking
about the dogs, right? Yes, of course he must be.
I lower
Treacle out of his sling so he can have a loo trot. He seems much more alert
now and is following Maxi along as though nothing has happened.
We pass the
ruined chapel that borders the woodland and Leo stops. As his hand is holding
mine he pulls me to a stop too.
“Do you know
I had my very first kiss here in this ruin?”
He tugs me
closer and places his other hand firmly in the small of my back, holding me in
place so I’m pressed up against the hard length of him, soft flesh yielding to
hard muscle. For a moment I think I forget to breathe. I know instinctively he’d
let me go if I wanted.
But I don’t
want Leo to let go of the tight hold he has on me.
He’s a fair
bit taller than me, my head only reaches his chest so I have to look up to meet
his gaze. From what I can make out in the shifting shadows and patches of
moon-light Leo’s eyes are dark, glittering with intent.
“Did you now?”
I whisper, trying the breathing thing only to find my breath catches in my
chest. I steady myself in his arms and try again, breathing in the cool night
air tinged with pine needles and distant wood smoke.
“You know
you said you couldn’t get the hang of the French kissing thing?”
“Uh huh,” I
say casually, as though I haven’t cringed a million times since I uttered those
words at the welcome party at the chateau. Leo knew full well I’d meant the
timing of the triple air-kissing greeting, but of course he’d had to choose to
misinterpret. I thought it had been purely meant to embarrass me but maybe there’d
been an element of flirtatious teasing all along and I missed it because I was
so busy being pissed off.
“Would you
like a lesson now?” Leo’s voice is low, both the tone and the words send a
tingle down my spine.
“It’s always
good to be familiar with local customs,” I say breezily, as though my heart isn’t
beating so hard I’m worried he can hear it. My ear is pressed against his chest
and it reassures me that his heart rate increases too.
“Ah, Poppy.”
Leo laughs softly and adds something in French I don’t catch.
I look up as
he lowers his lips to mine, and I meet his mouth hungrily. He doesn’t dominate
my mouth by instantly invading and thrusting with his tongue as I might expect
but instead he takes the lead gently. Our tongues slowly explore and stroke as
I open up to him, letting him dominate. He trails kisses along my jawline and
down my neck. Then he grazes my earlobe with his teeth and my knees go weak.
Only the firm hand at the small of my back holds me upright. I plant soft
kisses along the rough stubble of his neck, wondering about how and where it
might graze me. Then I reach up to meet his mouth and tongue again. I could
kiss like this forever. I didn’t realise how tantalising it could be -full of
promise and hope, loaded with intent. I arch my body up against his and warmth
pools in my stomach and between my legs. My kisses grow more hungry. I’m
positive Leo must feel my nipples tightening into hard buds as I press hard
against his chest. It’s a nice sensation without the barrier of a bra between
our T-Shirts.
Then Leo
cups my bottom with one hand and squeezes so that I gasp into his mouth. I
guess he noticed the nipples, was that his revenge? Relentlessly he kisses me,
probes and teases me. I don’t notice how or when it happens but the torch is
now on the ground and Leo slides the hand not caressing my bottom up inside my
T-Shirt. I raise my arms and loop them around his neck so that he has access to
first gently trace the outline of my breast and then stroke closer and closer
to my aching nipple. He’s tormenting and teasing me, touching everywhere except
where I need it. I deliberately twist my body so the next sweep of his palm
encounters the tight bud of my nipple.
I groan and
press against his palm, wanting, needing more. He cups my breast and squeezes,
lightly pinching my nipple. The hand cupping my bottom moves round and strokes
up and down the top of my inner thigh above the layer of my leggings. I shudder
instantly and violently, jerking when his fingers dance lightly between my
legs. I’d be embarrassed by how quickly my body responds to his touch if I weren’t
so utterly immersed in the sensations and if I didn’t know by Leo’s own rapid
breathing that he’s as turned on by this as me.
I’m gasping, panting against his open mouth, my body melting and
dissolving into him, when I hear Joanna open the back door of Les Coquelicots
and the dogs set up a medley chorus of barking, welcoming me home and greeting
Maxi and Treacle.
“Are you
okay Poppy, is that you out there?” Joanna calls out, her voice tinged by
anxiety.
The anxiety
pierces the haze of my longing and brings me back to reality. I pull away from
Leo, feeling weak-limbed and as unsteady on my feet as a fledgling foal.
“Yes, it’s
just me, Joanna, there’s nothing for you to worry about,” I call back, trying
to sound normal but, I suspect, failing miserably. “Treacle is okay now. Leo
was just … seeing me home safely. I forgot my torch.”
I hear Leo’s
low chuckle next to me as he retrieves his torch from the grass and feel my
cheeks flame a response.
“Thanks for
the French lesson by the way, Leo,” I whisper, suppressing a fit of the
giggles. “I think I’ve got the hang of it now.”
I move
forward to welcome Peanut and Pickwick and to reassure them that Treacle and I
haven’t been eaten by the boogie-dog.
“Bye Leo.” I
don’t dare turn back or look at him, even though I’m sure the dark must hide my
flaming face.
Instead I
hurry towards Joanna to tell her all about Treacle.
All in all I’d
say it’s been an eventful evening. “Goodbye Poppy. Anytime you want to practice
your French … just let me know.” I can hear the grin in Leo’s reply as surely
as I can hear the crunch of gravel as he turns and walks back into the night,
whistling for Maxi to follow him home.
I’m not sure
I’ll ever look at that ruin in quite the same light again.
Author Bio!!!
Lorraine
Wilson writes flirty, feel-good fiction for Harper Impulse - a Harper Collins
imprint - and is unashamedly fond of happy endings. She loves hearing from
readers and feels incredibly grateful to be doing the job she always dreamt of.
She
splits her time between the South of France and Cambridgeshire and is usually
either writing or reading while being sat on, walked over or barked at by one
of her growing band of rescue dogs.
You
can find her online either via her website: http://www.lorraine-wilson.com or on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/LorraineWilsonWriter and Twitter @Romanceminx
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