Truth or Demon (19 page)

“Oh, really?” the woman said, eyeing her like there was no possible way she was telling the truth.

But before Poppy could reply, Killian tapped the woman’s shoulder and when she turned to look at him, he said, “Yes. Really. Come here, baby.”

Then before Poppy realized what he intended to do, he reached over and pulled her, stool and all, closer to him. The move brought her against him and effectively nudged the brunette out of the way.

Poppy looked from Killian to the woman, then back to Killian. This was silly. She started to giggle.

Killian smiled too, then he murmured, “Come here.”

For a split second she didn’t understand. Her stool was already bumped right against his. Then his hand came up to catch her chin, and his head descended.

He kissed her.

C
HAPTER
21

P
oppy remained still, stunned. Killian was kissing her. His lips moved over hers. Gently teasing her. Unhurried. Wonderfully soft and strong at the same time.

But her lack of response didn’t last long. He felt too good. A small moan escaped her, and she looped her arms around his neck. She kissed him back, all the emotions of this night coming out in her reaction to him.

He moaned too and deepened the kiss. His tongue found hers, brushing, tasting. The intimacy of the touch made her shake with need. God, he felt so good.

She sank her fingers into his hair, feeling the silky strands twining around them. His hold on her face was so sensual, so possessive. His thumb tugged at her bottom lip, opening her to him. And he tasted her more.

It was wild and erotic, and she knew she was acting out of control. But she didn’t care. She wanted to surrender to this.

But then he was gone. She swayed, her eyes still closed, her body limp with desire, her breathing short, disjointed pants.

“Poppy?”

She opened her eyes, trying to focus. Killian was still only inches away. She fought the urge to lift her lips to his again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

His words jarred her like a bucket of ice water dumped over her head. Why not? It had been wonderful. Perfect.

“But she’s gone.”

She blinked again. Who? Then reality truly hit. He’d just kissed her to get rid of that woman. The kiss had been fake. A charade.

She straightened, although she still felt like she was reeling.

“Good,” she said with more composure than she felt. Inside, every muscle quivered like Jell-O. Even as she told herself to just shake it off. The kiss wasn’t real. Killian hadn’t felt the same things she had.

She managed to look out at the barroom. The table of women gaped at her, and even in her embarrassment and hurt she realized some of them looked at her with surprise, but others appeared almost impressed. Except the brunette. She’d returned to the table but sat with her back to them.

Maybe Poppy should have had a sense of smugness, but she just felt stupid. Stupid and offended. And hurt.

Beside her, Killian shifted and she realized she was still basically wedged between his legs. Carefully, because her legs wobbled as if she was on stilts, she stood and moved her bar stool.

Space would help. God, she hoped it would help.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Killian repeated, and she found his apology angered her.

But her voice was quiet and even as she said, “No woman wants an apology like that.”

Killian nodded. She was right. He’d way overstepped his bounds, and how could a simple “I’m sorry” make up for that?

His only thought had been to make a point to that rude woman. Both women had been overbearing and disrespectful to Poppy. Something she didn’t deserve from anyone.

Of course, his kiss had been both of those things too.

But she’d been so feisty with the woman. It was utterly adorable—and arousing. He frowned at his own thoughts.

And if he was being honest, putting that woman in her place wasn’t why he’d kissed Poppy. He’d just wanted to kiss her, and then once he was, all he’d been thinking about was how amazing Poppy felt in his arms. And how he just wanted more of her.

But his loss of control hadn’t been fair to her.

He started to apologize again but caught himself.

Poppy reached for the wineglass in front of him, but she didn’t make eye contact as she did so. She finished off the last bit, then clutched the glass in her hand, watching her friend play guitar. But he didn’t think she was even seeing him.

He polished off his beer and signaled to the bartender for another.

“Want another wine?”

She shook her head, changed her in mind in mid-shake and nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

This time when the bartender brought her the wine, she sipped it. Still watching her friend.

Which allowed him the chance to study her. Poppy surprised him. That kiss surprised him.

The Poppy he’d seen was usually so reserved. No. Reserved wasn’t the right word. That implied she was distant, cold. That wasn’t Poppy. She exuded warmth and kindness. She was just—guarded. Yes. That was the right word.

But not in her kiss. She’d responded to him with her whole being. With utter abandon. Even the thought of it got him hard. Not that that bad boy had fully dissipated from the actual event.

Unfortunately, Poppy’s guard was back, like a force field that had shot up as soon as the kiss had finished. Definitely designed to keep him out. And he did not like it. Not now that he’d tasted her vulnerable passion.

In the dim light, he could see her lips appeared a little pinker, a little swollen from their kiss. He could still taste her on him. The tang of wine, the sweetness of her. The heat of her passion.

He couldn’t think about her this way. He was here to do a job. A job that would get him home. He wasn’t from this world. And he didn’t want to be. He wanted to get this stupid task done and just leave.

Do it now. Pick a man now. Stop all this nonsense before something more happens.

He looked around the room. More men had arrived, but he didn’t even attempt to manipulate one of them. He couldn’t.

Then he glanced toward the guitarist. Maybe he’d be a good fit. Eric and Poppy had once been friends. That would be a plus, right? He was a musician, which he knew Poppy liked. And maybe it would get back at Adam in some way. Adam deserved that as far as Killian was concerned.

But he still did nothing.

Instead he returned his attention to Poppy.

“You were really great with that woman.”

Poppy looked away from Eric, surprised by Killian’s sudden announcement.

“Really? Why do you say that?”

Killian grinned, the effect utterly breathtaking. “You were so sassy.”

Poppy found herself smiling too, despite her earlier humiliation.

“She was pretty awful.”

“Totally awful,” Killian said.

Poppy laughed. She knew it must be the wine, but at his words, she just felt lighter. Definitely the wine.

“I don’t think you’d have a hard time finding someone to date here,” she added, her smile fading a little. Along with some of her sudden pleasure.

Because he was here to meet someone. She had to remember that. The kiss had been a—a prank, really.

“I’m not impressed with the women here,” he said. Then his eyes locked with hers. “Well, except one. And I came with her.”

Poppy’s heart jolted and her breath caught.

“You’re a really good person,” he said, giving her a fond smile.

Some of Poppy’s delight vanished, and she released her pent-up breath. The tone of his voice, the look on his face. Even his words. All of it stated he considered her a great friend.

Which was fine, she assured herself. That was good. Very good.

“So tell me about college,” he said, the sudden shift of topic confusing her for a moment. Or was it the wine? Most likely both.

“College?”

“Yeah, you said your majors were children’s literature and illustration. What did you want to do with those degrees?”

Poppy giggled then. “They don’t sound like very useful degrees, do they?”

Killian smiled. “That isn’t what I was saying, but you must have had a plan of how you were going to use them.”

“I did,” she said with a reminiscent nod. “I was going to write and illustrate children’s books.”

“So why aren’t you doing that?”

His direct question caught her off guard. Most people never asked what she’d done in college. And those who did just accepted that her plan was a pipe dream, and she’d needed to be more practical.

“Well, I had to get a job that paid a little more regularly.”

He nodded, but then said, “Couldn’t you do both?”

“I—I tried,” she said. “But it was like my creativity shut down. No stories. No pictures in my head. Nothing. It was like my artwork seemed frivolous after I lost my parents. And I lost …”

She stopped herself, wishing she could just pull everything she’d said back inside and simply say, “No, I couldn’t do both.”

But the words were out, and now Killian studied her as if he was trying to see deeper inside her mind.

“He really hurt you, didn’t he?”

Poppy, even in her wine haze, didn’t have to ask who
he
was.

She nodded slightly.

“Hey.”

They both turned to see that Eric had joined them.

“Hi,” Poppy said, managing to sound normal, even though her thoughts were still on her conversation with Killian. “You sounded great.”

Eric smiled. “Not too bad, I guess. But not as good as Adam and I did in the day.”

She forced a smile back. Adam. It was a night of Adam, wasn’t it?

Then she felt Killian’s hand on top of hers. Instead of pulling away, or just allowing the touch, she turned her palm toward his and linked their fingers.

This wouldn’t make any sense later, when her head was clear. But right now, she just accepted his comfort.

She half expected Eric to raise an eyebrow at the touch, but he didn’t even seem to notice. Instead he asked if either of them wanted a drink, then stepped up to the bar to order one for himself.

When he returned, they still had their fingers joined, and though the touch made her nerve endings hum with awareness, it also gave her peace. A sense of calm.

She even managed to chat with Eric, talking about what he’d been doing. He was married, with a two-year-old son. He worked for a large law firm in midtown. She told him about her sister and her work. All the while Killian continued to hold her hand, a quiet presence that somehow made her feel composed, grounded.

“Well, I have to get back up there,” Eric said, jerking his head toward the makeshift stage. He leaned in to hug her again, and Poppy released Killian’s hand to return the hug. The loss of his touch instantly left her feeling set adrift.

“Good to see you too, Eric,” she said.

“Really,” Eric said as he pulled away. “Come see Adam this weekend. My wife and I will be there. And a few other members of the old gang. It would be a great time to catch up.”

“Oh,” she shook her head, “I don’t—”

“We’ll be there,” Killian said, the first full sentence he’d said since Eric had walked up.

Poppy gaped at him. Killian smiled back at her, his expression serene.

“I’d love to meet your college friends,” he said.

She still stared at him, unable to comprehend why he was doing this.

No. She wouldn’t go.

“Great,” Eric said, pleased and somehow oblivious to the silent exchange between the two of them. “Samson and Delilah’s. It’s a new bar down on the Back Bay. Eight-ish.”

“We’ll be there,” Killian repeated.

Eric strolled away, and Poppy stood too. She glared at Killian.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?”

But she didn’t wait for his answer. She turned, her heel catching on an uneven floorboard as she did. She wobbled, but righted herself and managed to flee the bar. And the man who clearly thought her life was a joke.

C
HAPTER
22

K
illian dashed out onto the sidewalk, making a frantic search in both directions. He saw there was no slight woman with glossy brown hair, teetering away as quickly as her high-heeled boots would allow.

“Shit.”

He’d tried to make a quick exit, throwing a couple twenties on the bar, more than enough to settle up the tab. He’d been rushing toward the door, when the bartender called him back. Poppy had left without her jacket and purse.

Then at the door, the rude brunette, who must have witnessed Poppy’s abrupt departure, cut him off. He’d gotten rid of her,
again,
this time using his abilities to send her on her way.

He swore again, both at the hindrances that had slowed him down and because he couldn’t see Poppy. He didn’t think she could have gotten very far. Between the wine and the boots, her progress would have to be pretty slow. He’d be lucky if he didn’t find her sprawled on the concrete with a broken ankle.

That image spurring him on, he strode down the sidewalk toward the apartment building. Surely she wasn’t so tipsy she’d taken off in the wrong direction.

One block later, he found her. She sat on the steps of a row house, one boot already off as she tugged at the other one.

At least she was clearheaded enough to realize her ability to negotiate these sidewalks was not good. Of course, walking in stocking feet wasn’t a great plan either.

“Put your boot back on,” he said softly. “I’ll help you.”

Poppy glared up at him, and he could see tears glistening in her dark eyes. Smudges of mascara darkened her cheeks.

“Oh, I think you’ve helped enough, thank you very much.”

His chest tightened. Jerk. That’s what he was.

He looked around, not sure how to handle this. Was he used to crying? In his line of work? Of course. But he had his mind control to handle that. And the ones crying, well, they didn’t deserve comfort. Neither of those things applied here.

Poppy deserved comfort. She deserved the right words. He knew she’d never gotten them in the past when she’d so desperately needed them. And unfortunately now, she was stuck with him.