Page 120 of The Polly Principle (The Laws of Love 2)

“Yep,” said Alice. “The message gamma-rayed its way from the other side of the world. Now go, you silly sausage, and claim your man.”

Polly jumped up, phone still jammed to her ear as she flew to her wardrobe. “How can I ever repay you, Munchkin?”

“You have, a thousand times already, for getting me and Aaron together, you dope. Go.” And Alice hung up.

Exactly twenty-two minutes later, Polly stood outside Carts’ house, shivering. It was going to be warm later, the sun winking a hello over the rooftops, but it wasn’t now and the first thing she had found in her cupboard was a lightweight yellow cotton dress with large red poppies splashed all over it. She’d struggled with the zipper and now, in the crisp morning air, had a sense it was stuck halfway down her back. Her hair was springing in all directions and she hadn’t even bothered with a slick of lip gloss.

But it was too late to turn back now. She couldn’t hide her feelings anymore, from herself, from Solo. She had to take the risk or she knew she’d regret this for the rest of her days.

She tiptoed through the gate. The curtains were still closed across Solo’s bedroom window.

She picked up a handful of gravel from the succulent bed in the small patch of garden. Hurled it up at the window. A spray fell on her head. Damn, now she’d have gravel in her hair and that would be a bitch to get out.

But the tinkle on the glass told her some had hit the mark. She picked up another handful and lobbed it as the window flung wide.

Fuck, she’d just hit Solo in the face. His hand shot up as he exclaimed, “What the hell!”

“It’s me, Polly,” she hissed loudly.

Now Solo was leaning out the window. And oh, God, he was wearing nothing on top. The sight of his muscled torso made her mouth dry up.

“I need to talk to you,” she got out.

For a moment his face remained hard, his features bunched, she could see it even in the dim early morning light and her heart stalled.

Then suddenly he ducked inside.

God, what if she’d got this all wrong? It wasn’t like he’d given her a single crumb these past two weeks. Her teeth were chattering more from fear than anything as she stood waiting for him, hoping he would answer the door. Then she heard the latch draw back.

He stood on the doorstep and, sod the guy, he’d purposely left his chest bare, she knew he had. Her eyes drank in his pecs, the tiny dusting of hair on his chest, sank to the v of dark hair that descended into his pyjama pants.

She swallowed hard.

He stood back against the open door, but not before she’d caught the twitch at the corner of his beautiful mouth.

“Are you going to do more than hurl missiles at me?”

“They were meant for the window.”

He stared at her, another lip twitch, but said nothing.

“I had to do something to stop you ignoring me.”

“An early morning raid seems a bit dramatic.”

“It’s… um— because I need to… we need to… talk.”

He motioned his head for her to enter. “Come inside.”

“No, thanks.”

She had to say it now, on the doorstep, because with him half-naked like that, if she went inside, she might just pounce and then… NO, sex was not the answer. Talking was.

She had to spill it. Open up. Communicate.

She glanced up to see a small frown furrowing Solo’s brows. Hell, it made him look so sexy. Too tempting to plaster her hands all over that chest. She bit her lip, dragged in a mouthful of air.

“When you’re ready,” he said.

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