Truth or Demon (21 page)

He could hear faint strains of music, but no actual response.

Carefully, he turned the knob and peeked inside. A lava lamp glowed on her bureau and cast the room in pink. He could make out the faint light of her iPod speakers. A song played low.

And Daisy was curled in bed, covers up to her chin. A book was opened beside her on the mattress. She rolled over, her face toward him, but she didn’t wake. In her sleep, she looked like a little angel.

Too bad he knew the difference.

Then he smiled to himself. Not that he couldn’t respect someone who went for what she wanted. He was that way too.

He closed the door and walked back down the hall, pausing outside Poppy’s door. She hadn’t moved, and he could hear her even breathing.

He watched her for a moment.

He always went for what he wanted. But not this time. This time he’d walk away. No matter how hard it was.

C
HAPTER
23

“W
hoa, I guess you had fun last night.”

Poppy tried not to grimace at her little sister, which was difficult, because her head pounded. And she felt like an idiot—on so many counts.

She wandered over to the coffeemaker, very pleased to see Daisy had already made some. Daisy loved coffee as much as she did, and Poppy supposed if that was her little sister’s biggest vice, they were doing okay.

Although this morning Poppy was learning the payback on vice was hardly worth it. She prepared her coffee, the clinking of the spoon against the ceramic mug ricocheting through her head like gunshots.

Finally, she collapsed onto one of the kitchen chairs and stared at the steaming coffee, not even attempting a sip. Now even her favorite morning beverage didn’t appeal. In fact, the usually wonderful scent reeked to her. Like rotten garbage mixed with turpentine.

She nudged the mug away.

“So?”

This time, Poppy did grimace at her sister. Daisy couldn’t possibly expect details. Not right this moment, anyway.

But her obvious misery wasn’t going to deter Daisy.

“So you did have fun, right?”

Poppy managed a slight nod. No sudden movements. No … sudden movements.

“Did Killian have fun too? Did he meet anyone?”

Let’s see. He’d definitely met a drunken floozy in the elevator. She dropped her head to rest on her hand, her elbow sliding across the table under the weight.

God, she’d never known her head could hurt this badly. Like her brain no longer fit in her head and was pulsing directly against her skull. The pain almost obliterated her embarrassment. Almost.

“Did you meet anyone?”

Poppy managed another minute headshake.

Then Poppy’s complexion must have taken on a thoroughly green hue, because Daisy seemed to take pity on her and stopped asking questions.

Of course, her cereal sounded unusually crunchy this morning.

Finally, Daisy rose and placed her dishes in the sink.

“Can I get you anything?” Daisy asked as she picked up her school bag.

“No,” Poppy managed, then had to swallow several times to tamp down the nausea. God, she was an idiot.

Daisy pursed her lips as if debating what to do.

“Don’t worry about me,” Poppy said, mustering enough energy to sit up. “I think I just have a bug or something.”

Daisy nodded, although Poppy was pretty sure she wasn’t really buying the flu excuse.

“Go on,” Poppy said, even managing a little smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Text me if you need anything.”

Poppy nodded.

Someone knocked on the apartment door.

“Probably Madison,” Poppy said, swinging her book bag onto her shoulder and waving as she left the kitchen.

“Have a good day,” Poppy called after her. Then she let her head drop to the table, her temples pounding, her stomach roiling.

Dear God, just let me die now.

Daisy opened the door, a smile on her face, which disappeared as soon as she saw Killian standing there.

“Expecting someone else, huh?” he said wryly.

Daisy glanced over her shoulder, then stepped out in the hall.

“What happened to my sister?”

Killian’s own smile slipped. He couldn’t imagine that Poppy would share anything about their kisses with her little sister, but what else could have Daisy looking ready to kill?

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked, deciding to play dumb.

“She’s way hungover.”

Ah, yeah. He would have guessed that if his guilty conscience hadn’t taken him in the direction of their kisses.

“She ran into one of Adam’s old musician buddies.”

Daisy’s expression instantly grew much less ferocious. “Oh.”

Killian nodded in agreement. And in truth, seeing Eric
had
contributed quite a bit to Poppy’s imbibing. Killian might not have helped, but Daisy did not need to know that.

“So, I’m going on the assumption that there was no matchmaking last night?”

He shook his head. “None. But I’m starting to know Poppy better.” Much better. Intimate details about her—like her feel. Her taste. Her smell. “So it will be easier to find the right guy.”

“That’s good,” Daisy said. “It sucks she ran into that guy. No wonder she looks so upset and miserable.”

More guilt landed square on his chest.

“I’ll go check on her.”

“That’s nice.” Daisy made a face that stated she was impressed. Man, she so wouldn’t be if she knew the truth.

Daisy’s bag chimed. Her cell phone was receiving a text.

She didn’t even bother to check it. “That’s Madison. I’m running late. See you later.”

Daisy smiled and dashed off. Killian watched her go, smiling slightly. It was sort of amusing how quickly and easily she’d just come to accept him. He was an effin’ demon.

Somehow he didn’t think Poppy would accept that tidbit of information with such aplomb.

But he wasn’t here to tell her about his real self.

When he entered the apartment, he expected to find Poppy lying on her couch. But the living room was empty. The office?

No. The bedroom was empty too. And he could see into the bathroom, but he doubted she was down there if the door was open. So that left the kitchen.

When he walked in, Poppy sat at the table, her head facedown on her crossed arms. Then she heard his footfalls, and she raised her head, a wan smile on her pale face.

When she realized it was him, her smile vanished, and her face looked even sicker, a whitish-gray color.

The second less-than-thrilled greeting of his morning.

“I thought you were Daisy.”

“I figured. You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” she said flatly, then let her head fall back down on her arms.

He smiled sympathetically. Not that he’d ever been sick or had a hangover. But he could see it wasn’t pleasant.

He’d also read about remedies for hangovers. He read everything. One of the things he’d read said that something in eggs could help a rough morning after.

He crossed to the fridge, checking the shelves for an egg container. Finding it, he placed the carton on the counter, then gathered some butter and some bread. He crouched, searching a cupboard next to the stove for a frying pan.

“What are you doing?” she finally asked, barely turning her head to look at him.

“Making you some breakfast. It will help.”

She made a noise that sounded distinctly like a gag, then fell silent again.

He found the pan he was looking for, other pots and pans clattering as he pulled it out.

“Must you be so loud? ‘Cause that
isn’t
helping.”

He winced. “Sorry. I’ll be more careful.” He set the pan down gently on the burner. Then he returned to the cupboards to find a bowl to whisk the eggs. There were more
clanks
as he pulled down a small mixing bowl.

Poppy groaned.

He suppressed a chuckle, knowing that noise would be especially unappreciated.

He went to her side and leaned down, slipping one arm under the crook of her legs, while the other came around her back. Before she could stiffen or pull away, he lifted her, holding her up against his chest.

“W-what are you doing?” she sputtered, her eyes wide and her hangover momentarily forgotten.

“I’m moving you to the living room. There is no point in your being out here.”

He carried her carefully, making sure not to jar her too much. She didn’t struggle, which he was sure was because she just didn’t feel well enough to do so.

He placed her on the sofa, arranging some of the pillows at the end, so she’d be propped up a bit, then helped her ease back against them. He left her to go grab the throw he’d used with her last night from the bedroom.

When he returned, he noticed a tinge of color had come back to her face, and her eyes were locked on the blanket in his hands.

“You put me to bed last night.” It wasn’t a question, just a sudden realization.

He nodded, wondering what else she’d forgotten. “You were pretty—tired.”

She gave him a wan smile at his description of her behavior. He tucked the blanket around her for the second time in less than twelve hours.

“Just rest.”

Killian disappeared back into the kitchen, and Poppy closed her eyes, listening to him work.

Was it possible to feel miserable, embarrassed, and oddly happy all at the same time? Because somehow she seemed to be managing it.

What was wrong with her? Last night had been a disaster. A crazy, pathetic mess. He’d kissed her. Not once, but twice. And neither time should make her feel good. Once to dupe that woman and the second time, because in her drunken mind it had been reasonable to throw herself at him. More forward and shameless than either of those women at the bar could ever hope to be.

She groaned. This was awful.

She remained still, her head throbbing. Her whole being was mortified by her behavior. Yet, she did like that he was here.

In the background she heard him puttering around her kitchen, trying to keep his movements as quiet as possible.

Why would he even be here after the way she’d acted?

She didn’t understand. She would have expected him to flee from her as fast as his long, muscular legs could carry him.

Then his legs—his whole body—flashed in her mind.

The memory of the elevator returned to her. His body against hers. His mouth. His hands on her. The passion she felt. She could swear she’d felt passion coming from him too.

But then she’d thrown herself at him. And he’d responded. What guy wouldn’t? Like she’d been in any state to know what he was feeling. He’d probably felt obligated to return her kiss.

But that didn’t explain why he was here now.

As if on cue, Killian came in to the living room, carrying two plates.

He set one on the coffee table for her, then took a seat in the old rocker that had been her great-grandmother’s. Something about seeing his large, powerful frame on such a delicate piece of furniture seemed almost amusing. If she could bring herself to laugh.

“Try to eat some,” he told her, digging into his own.

She sat up a little, reaching for the plate. As soon as she got a good whiff of the eggs, her mouth started watering and her stomach clenched.

Do not vomit in front of this man, she told herself. She’d already filled her quota of embarrassing deeds for the week. Heck, the year.

She breathed in slowly through her nose and out through her mouth several times until the nausea passed. Then she tentatively pierced a bit of the scrambled egg on the tines of her fork and nibbled it.

The texture was not pleasant, but she forced herself to chew and swallow. Again. And again. She took a bite of toast, the bread gummy in her mouth, but again she made herself eat it.

By the time she’d finished half the plate, she was surprised to discover her stomach no longer churned.

She let out a slow breath, this time due to a full stomach rather than nausea.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked, uncurling his large frame from the rocker, his plate empty.

She nodded. “Yes. That made me feel much better. Thank you.”

“Least I could do.” He smiled, and something flashed in his eyes that she didn’t quite understand. But it looked a lot like regret.

Some of her pleasure at feeling better vanished.

“Done?” he asked.

She nodded, holding her plate out to him. He took it, his eyes now not meeting hers.

More concern swelled up in her chest. Why did she get the feeling that Killian was going to tell her something? Something she might not want to hear.

He carried the dishes into the kitchen, but he was soon back. This time, he didn’t take a seat in the rocking chair, but perched on the arm of the sofa. He looked down at his linked hands, and Poppy could tell he was working up to something. Something big.

“Poppy,” he said, his voice a low, velvety rumble. He had the richest, deepest voice. A voice she could listen to for hours. But right now, she didn’t want to hear what he was going to say. She just knew she wasn’t going to like it. Not at all.

“I wanted to talk to you about last night. I realize I was way too forward.”

C
HAPTER
24

H
ere we go.

She’d known this was coming. But Poppy remained quiet and tried to keep her face impassive.

He was going to tell her that the elevator kiss had been a silly moment that should never have happened. They’d just gotten caught up in the craziness of the night.

She already knew that, but she didn’t want yet another apology. An apology that was essentially a polite way of saying, “I’m not interested in you. I never could be. Don’t make anything out of it.”

So she wouldn’t. She’d just remain calm, indifferent. She would shrug off his words, and he would never know that the apology had any effect on her. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Remaining stoic was her best defense. It had been her only defense all these years.

He looked up from his hands to meet her gaze. “I owe you an apology.”