Truth or Demon (12 page)

“Are you all right?” she finally asked, after watching him for several minutes. “Didn’t you say you were starving?”

He blinked at her, then seemed to come back from wherever he was.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” He opened his menu, reading down the list of delicious breakfast and lunch items.

She returned her attention to her own menu. When she looked up again, his attention was no longer on the menu. Again he surveyed the room as if searching for someone.

But he couldn’t be expecting to see anyone he knew. So what was he doing?

Then the realization hit her like ice water thrown in her face. He was searching for women to meet. A potential friend, lover, wife. Hadn’t he told her that was what he wanted to accomplish in Boston?

Suddenly, Poppy didn’t feel hungry either. Which was stupid, she told herself. He’d already told her that a relationship was something he very much wanted.

And it wasn’t like this was some impromptu date between them. That was stupid.

She didn’t want that anyway. As much as he wanted a relationship, she didn’t want one.

She glanced at him. And definitely not with him.

Yet, before she could stop herself, she asked, “See anything you like?”

She tried not to wince at her tone, doubting he’d miss the annoyance there.

His attention turned back to her, but instead of giving her a look of speculation, or even just answering with his usual tactless honesty, he looked back to his menu.

“The waffles do sound good. That’s what I’m getting.” He set aside the menu. “What about you?”

She looked at him for a moment, trying to decide if he really hadn’t been checking out women. Maybe he hadn’t. And thankfully, he didn’t seem to be at all aware of her peevishness.

She looked back to her menu, feeling a little silly for getting worked up. Couldn’t the guy just appreciate the cool décor without her getting all offended?

“I think I’ll have the waffles too. With fresh berries.”

This time, when she looked up, Killian was staring at her. Again he had that intense look she’d noticed earlier. An expression she didn’t understand at all.

“What was your old boyfriend like?”

C
HAPTER
13

B
efore she could answer, a waitress arrived to take their orders. Poppy vaguely recalled ordering a coffee and waffles. She wasn’t even sure if she’d asked for the fresh berries.

Killian ordered too, seemingly oblivious to her stunned reaction.

But as soon as the waitress left, he turned back to her, eyebrows raised, clearly awaiting her response.

“My old boyfriend?” Why would he suddenly want to know about Adam?

“Yes, you said you lived with him. What was he like?”

Poppy shook her head. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to talk about him. Adam had been the love of her life. Her first serious boyfriend, the person she thought she was going to grow old with.

“He was …”

She wasn’t going to talk about this.

“He was a nice guy.”

“So you like nice?”

Poppy shrugged. “I don’t think many women actually like mean.”

Adam had been mean at the end. She hadn’t liked that at all. No, not mean exactly. More like distant, cold, absent in the relationship. But she’d held on, hoping he’d change back to the man she’d loved and so terribly afraid she’d lose another person who was important to her. In the end, she’d had to let go.

“I guess that is true,” Killian said, drawing her attention back to him, away from a memory she’d rather not recall. “But some women do like bad boys, right?”

“I guess.” Why were they talking about this?

“But definitely not you?”

She stared at him. “Not really.”

“And what about income? And age? Any preferences?”

Poppy didn’t answer for a moment, studying his face. His expression was expectant, his eyes bright with interest, as if her answers were of the utmost importance to him.

“Why are you asking me all this?”

He straightened, for the first time in the conversation appearing a little uncertain, like maybe his line of questioning was odd.

“It’s always nice to know what a woman wants in a man,” he said, shrugging as if suddenly her answers weren’t of much importance to him.

The waitress returned, placing steaming mugs of coffee in front of each of them. Killian took a sip of his, then turned, suddenly finding the painting on the wall above their table inordinately fascinating.

She added cream to her coffee until the dark liquid was pale brown. She reached for a couple packets of sugar. What had spurred on that line of questioning?

She stirred her coffee, puzzled. Then she realized what must have motivated him. Of course. How stupid of her. He’d been asking her about preferences, using her as a barometer to understand what women wanted in general. Maybe because of the loss of his own fiancée. And probably to understand what his new love interest might want.

He didn’t want to make the same mistakes again.

“I like men who are intelligent,” she said.

He immediately turned his attention back to her.

“And a good sense of humor is a must,” she added.

“Okay,” Killian said, nodding as if he was making a mental checklist in his head.

“And good looking never hurts,” she said with a smile. He definitely had that one in the bag. “And interesting is good. You know, not just run-of-the-mill.”

Killian listened to her list. Run-of-the-mill. That ruled out the guy with the average haircut and average build he’d been considering. The older man in the corner was definitely the best-looking guy in the restaurant. But there was one guy with longish hair who looked the most interesting. Damn, this was confusing.

“He has to like kids and pets. And have a great laugh.”

Killian frowned. How the hell was he supposed to find out half this shit? What did he know about a guy’s laugh anyway?

This was going to be impossible. A great laugh? Yeah, impossible.

“But I’m just one woman,” she finally said, after taking a sip of her now very creamy, very sweetened coffee. “You will find a woman who loves all the things you have to offer.”

Killian paused, the coffee mug halfway to his mouth. What woman? Then he realized she was referring to his declaration about wanting to find a wife.

He nodded, setting down his mug. “I hope you are right.”

“I am. You’re a catch,” she told him with a smile, then reached for another packet of sugar.

He watched as she added the fourth sugar to her coffee, the spoon clinking on the ceramic.

“You think I’m a catch?”

She smiled then, that little dimple appearing. “Of course.”

Something warm spread through his chest, a strange sensation that felt like pleasure, but more than that.

He didn’t trust it.

He took a long swallow of his coffee, letting the burn of the hot liquid replace the other warmth in his chest. Then he looked back at the other single men in the restaurant.

The one on the couch with the goatee and boots. That was his choice. Done.

Focusing on the man, he sent his thoughts through the air like radio waves directly to the man’s brain. The man immediately lowered his paper, frowning, a slightly confused look in his eyes.

Turn and look this way.

The man shifted on the sofa cushion. Well, apparently Killian’s powers still worked—that was a relief. He couldn’t understand why they didn’t work on Poppy, but at least being able to control her love interest would make this crazy task only half as difficult.

Become aware of her.

Killian glanced at Poppy so the man would know whom he was supposed to notice.

The man turned further, craning his neck to see Poppy. She was in the midst of testing her coffee. She wrinkled her nose and reached for yet another sugar. Something about the action was really quite cute.

Find her cute. No,
Killian amended, studying her pretty mouth and soulful dark eyes,
find her beautiful.

The man stared at her, clearly not finding Killian’s order too difficult to obey.

Come over and speak to her.

The man folded his paper and tossed it down on the table in front of him. Then he rose and headed directly to their table.

Killian watched his approach, wondering at the strange feeling of dread tightening the muscles in his shoulders and making his teeth clench.

“Excuse me,” the man said.

Poppy looked up at the man, her dark eyes wide as if a strange man talking to her was uncommon and a little startling.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the man said, offering a reassuring, friendly smile.

Poppy glanced at Killian, clearly confused by the man’s attention.

“It’s okay,” she said, smiling, albeit weakly. Killian couldn’t say why, but he was pleased to notice the dimple didn’t make an appearance for this guy.

“Can I help you?” she said, her voice polite but impersonal.

The man looked flustered then, as if he wasn’t really sure what he was doing either. Killian thought of sending him another mental nudge, but something stopped him.

“I—” The man gave her a pained smile. “I never just approach a woman like this. But I noticed you from where I was sitting over there.” He gestured to the sofa. “And I just had to come over and speak to you. And—and see if I could—I don’t know. Call you sometime.”

Poppy stared at him, something akin to shock on her face.

“I mean, if that’s okay,” the man said. “I’m really not some weirdo.”

Killian fought the urge to make a face. Like a weirdo would admit he was a weirdo. Then Killian narrowed a critical look at the guy. Was he a weirdo?

Suddenly he decided maybe this wasn’t the right guy for Poppy. After all, as far as he could see, the guy had no sense of humor at all. And intelligence, well, there wasn’t much sign of that either. And interesting was also right out the window with this one.

Then the man laughed nervously—a nasally twitter. Okay, if the great laugh wasn’t even there, what was the point?

But before he could send the man a thought to gracefully—and quickly—leave, Poppy answered him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, offering him a pained smile of her own. “I’m involved.” She nodded toward Killian.

The man glanced at Killian for the first time since approaching the table. Killian tilted his head, giving him a cool smile by way of greeting.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” the man said to Poppy, then looked back at Killian. “I’m sorry,” he repeated to Killian.

“No problem,” Killian said, finding it easy to go along with Poppy’s story. “She is a lovely woman.”

Killian saw Poppy look at him out of his peripheral vision, surprise in her brown eyes.

“Very lovely,” the man agreed.

Okay, enough was enough.

Walk away now.

“Sorry to bother you.” the man bowed slightly.

And don’t talk to Poppy again,
Killian added for good measure.

The man headed back to the sofa and his paper.

Poppy watched him go, then shot Killian a puzzled, yet amused look. “That was strange.”

“You don’t get men asking you out?”

She laughed as if the very idea was ludicrous.

“No.” She chuckled again. Killian couldn’t help noticing her laugh. Lovely. Sweet. A sound he could hear over and over. You know, if he ever considered laughter. Which he didn’t. Well, you know, until she’d mentioned it.

The waitress arrived with their food, giving him something else to focus on. But not even food distracted him long.

He watched Poppy as she cut off a piece of her waffle with her fork, a small, secret smile still on her lips.

The man’s attention had really pleased her. But he couldn’t imagine she didn’t get noticed all the time. Although, that man probably wouldn’t have noticed her without Killian’s mental prompting.

He watched her as she picked up a raspberry and popped the small fruit into her mouth. A raspberry as ripe and red as her lips.

Killian stared at those lips. He couldn’t believe she wouldn’t get attention. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said she was lovely. She was.

Then he glanced over at the man. He watched Poppy over the top of his paper. There was still keen awareness in the man’s eyes. An awareness Killian found himself disliking. Very much.

Before he even realized it, a thought was fired from his head, sent out like a warning shot.

She’s mine.

The man’s gaze moved from Poppy to him, and Killian found himself staring back. Unflinching. Unapologetic.

The man looked away. And Killian felt relief, mingled with a very real feeling of possessiveness. A feeling he refused to overanalyze as he returned his attention to his breakfast.

C
HAPTER
14

O
f course, by the end of breakfast, he had analyzed his feelings—to death. And he’d realized that he was clearly confusing possessiveness with concern. He could admit that he’d come to rather like Poppy, which made it harder to just pick any old guy for her.

He didn’t really care for concern as an emotion. Not his thing. But it was better than possessiveness. Possessiveness didn’t even make sense.

“How about this store?” Poppy asked, pointing to another shop in the strip mall where they’d just picked up his toiletries.

The drugstore she’d taken him to was fine. He could get a functional razor, toothbrush and deodorant anywhere. But clothing? From a place called …

“Old Navy?”
What kind of name was that for a clothing store? He wasn’t planning to swab a deck any time soon.

Poppy smiled at him as he read the large sign over the glass storefront. “Why do I get the feeling that you’ve never set foot in this store before?”

“Probably because I never have.”

“Well, I figured this would be a good place for you to just pick up a few essentials. After all, your luggage is bound to be returned to you eventually.”

Leave it to her to be practical at all times.