Truth or Demon (24 page)

What the hell?

Tell her you have to go.

The man said something to Poppy, but didn’t move. He glanced again in Killian’s direction, a slight smile on his lips, something glinting in his eyes. Something that looked like—smugness.

This wasn’t right. Killian knew something was wrong. He started toward them, and only then did the man move away from her. He shot Killian one last look, then disappeared into the crowd.

When Killian reached Poppy, the man was gone. And Poppy looked decidedly embarrassed. She crossed her arms and glanced around as if looking for the guy.

Killian’s satisfaction faded. What if Poppy had been truly interested in that guy? What if she’d wanted to get to know him better? What if he was her soul mate?

No. Something hadn’t been right. It was as if he’d heard Killian but didn’t have to obey. And he was sticking to his gut on this one. His own desires hadn’t motivated him. Well, much.

“Hey. Who was that guy?” he asked.

Poppy didn’t look at him right away, her arms still crossed tightly around her. But eventually she shot him a sidelong glance that didn’t shield the hurt in her dark eyes from him.

“Just some guy. Obviously no one important.”

“What? What did he do?” He frowned. Had that jerk hurt her somehow? If he had, Killian would find him and beat the shit out of the guy.

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

Killian could see her shield, her wall, fall back into place. She was hurt and shutting him out.

Was she simply upset the man had left?

Because the last thing Poppy needed was to doubt her appeal. Her ex had already made her do that for years, she didn’t need to feel like other guys found her lacking. Especially since it had been very—almost too—obvious that guy had been interested in her.

Until Killian sent him on his way—if he even had. And his gut still told him something had been amiss with that man.

But maybe he wasn’t really gone.

“Is he coming back?”

Poppy laughed, the sound tight, not at all like her usual joyful giggle. “I doubt it.”

“Well, then clearly he’s an idiot.”

Poppy forced a smile. “Right.”

“He is.” Then, even though he knew he shouldn’t, he reached out and took Poppy’s hand.

She hesitated at the touch, her fingers tense against his, but then slowly they curled to squeeze his back. Suddenly, the edginess that had been keeping him rigid and agitated disappeared. He’d done the right thing coming to her.

Poppy tried to understand what had just happened in the last ten minutes. First she’d thought that Parve had been genuinely interested in talking with her. He’d been almost too intense but, overall, she’d found him likeable.

He’d laughed and asked questions. He’d touched her several times. She hadn’t dated in many years, but weren’t those all signals that he liked her?

Then as if some switch went off in his head, he’d walked away, barely saying good-bye, much less giving her an excuse for his sudden change of attitude.

Had she said something offensive? He’d been asking her about her life. Where she lived. About her career. A little more about Killian. That last subject she’d avoided, but she didn’t think she was rude about it.

Perhaps she had bad breath or something, but that still didn’t merit such an abrupt departure. She fought the urge to place a hand up to her mouth to test her breath.

And now, here was Killian. At her side. Holding her hand. Maybe it was her imagination, but she could have sworn Killian seemed relieved when she’d accepted his hand.

Maybe Killian was just relieved to be rid of the blonde he’d been talking to. Poppy supposed that could be it. But that still didn’t explain why Killian was holding her hand.

Was he just feeling bad for her? Poor rejected Poppy.

She tried to pull her hand away from his hold, but he squeezed, keeping her fingers entangled with his.

“You don’t have to hold my hand,” she said to him, suddenly sure his touch was spurred by pity. She didn’t want or need that.

“I want to.”

He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. The touch was light, barely even there, but the feathery caress still sent a shiver through her body.

He wanted to hold her hand. He’d said he’d wanted to kiss her too, but he’d showed no signs of wanting to do it again over the past few days.

“You’re kind of confusing,” Poppy said suddenly, nearly biting her tongue for blurting that out.

But Killian just chuckled. “I know.”

She frowned at him. Well, that wasn’t helpful at all. In fact, it was just more confusing. Shocker.

But she didn’t say anything. Instead they just walked silently, looking at the photos. The photos that depicted intimacy in various and erotic forms.

Killian paused in front of one of the photographs. This one was taken from above, most of the picture showing a woman with her head flung back in ecstasy. But out of focus beneath her, Poppy could see the form of a man’s large hands holding her hips and his head between her thighs.

She was straddling him and he was …

She looked away, heat burning her cheeks and neck. More heat pooled between her legs, which made her blush even hotter. Killian’s thumb brushed across the top of her hand again, the tiny caress stirring every nerve ending to life.

Her skin, her breasts, between her thighs. Her whole body ached.

She looked at the picture, no longer seeing the models. Seeing herself. Killian’s hands at her hips, his head between her thighs.

She released a shuddering breath. The image was so vivid. She hated to admit it, but she wanted it. So, so much.

As if realizing she was swiftly becoming overwrought, Killian led her to another photo. This one was blown up larger than the rest. This one too was mainly of a woman, naked. Her arms flailed out to her sides. Again there were male hands on her hips, but no other part of the man was in the picture.

Even so, there was no mystery as to what the man was doing to her. Poppy imagined herself the woman in the photo with Killian kneeling in front of her. His mouth on the most intimate part of her, parting her, tasting her. Making her beg for more.

Without turning her head, she shifted her gaze to peek at him. He wasn’t looking at the photo. He was watching her. She met his eyes then, seeing desire in their golden depths like flames flickering to life. Igniting them both.

He didn’t say a word as he led her away from the exhibit, through the crowd to a set of stairs that led to an upper balcony. She didn’t ask him where they were going, her mind too clouded with need, her body aching to the point she wanted to cry out.

At the top of the stairs, he looked around and then as if he knew exactly where he was going, he urged her toward a gray utility door. The door opened into a stairwell. Again he didn’t hesitate. He climbed the steps until he reached a landing and another door, this one metal. It scraped open as he shoved the bar that served as the handle and stepped through it.

Cool air washed over her flushed skin, and she realized they were on the rooftop. Light from the city illuminated the asphalt and created dancing shadows among the pipes and vents.

He stopped, not releasing her hand as he used his foot to kick a brick between the door and the frame, leaving it ajar.

She watched, even that moment of practicality not pulling her out of her desirous daze. Her mind seemed to be on an endless loop, where all she could think about was wanting this man. Common sense and thoughts of what might happen later just didn’t matter at this moment.

Killian tugged her hand, directing her farther away from the door. Then he spun her around in front of him, walking her backwards until she was pressed against the wall. She put her hands out to steady herself, the bricks rough under her fingertips.

Killian looked at her, his gaze roaming her face. Then his head descended, his mouth capturing hers, wild, possessive. Both their movements were greedy, desperate.

Killian lifted his head, hunger making his eyes glitter. “I’ve wanted to do that all night.”

She’d wanted him every moment they’d been together, she realized.

She touched his face, her fingers stroking his jawline. The gentle touch just served to inflame him more. His mouth returned to hers, his possession total, as he nudged her lips open and tasted her.

Poppy didn’t know how long they remained that way. Mouths moving over each other, hands grazing over one another’s bodies.

He left her again, and she whimpered, reaching out to pull him back, but he just smiled at her. A naughty, breathtakingly sexy smile. Then, as if in slow motion, he sank down to his knees.

She felt as if she were watching from somewhere outside herself as she stared down at him. He placed his hands on her ankles, slowly inching them up the outside of her legs. His palms large and hot, his fingers strong, shaping to her.

Her head fell back against the bricks as she just allowed herself to feel him. His touch moved over the curve of her calves, the slight dip of her knees, the softness of her thighs, the flare of her hips.

His hands stilled briefly, his motionlessness torture. She wanted him to continue, to caress her more. Then his fingers moved, toying with the waistband of her panties. Teasing her with his intent, with the promise of more caresses—deep intimate touches. He hooked his fingers under the elastic and slowly pulled them down.

She lifted her head to watch as he maneuvered them over her feet and dropped the small bit of lace and silk on the ground beside them.

She could feel the swirl of cool air under her skirt, the invisible touch almost painful on her hot, moist flesh.

She shouldn’t be doing this, she thought in a moment of lucidity. But the thought was quickly lost as his hands returned to her legs. This time, he moved up the front of them, his thumbs brushing against the inside. Slowly, painstakingly, he headed upward, with steady, sensual pressure spreading her legs apart.

She gasped when his hands reached the apex of her legs, his thumbs just barely nudging the swollen flesh between her thighs.

“Pull up your skirt for me, baby,” he said, his voice low, raspy with need.

Her fingers fumbled with the material of her skirt as if she was crumpling paper rather than soft cotton, her desire making her clumsy. But she managed to inch the skirt up, baring herself to him.

“Damn, you are so beautiful,” he muttered roughly.

She let out a strangled cry as he pressed his mouth to her.

C
HAPTER
27

K
illian moaned as he tasted Poppy’s wet heat. Using his thumbs, he spread her open to him, sinking his tongue deeper, savoring her. With each flick, each swirl, she gasped and writhed. Her hand came down to rest on his head, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him tighter against her. She strained against his mouth, her body begging for release.

But he didn’t give that to her. Not right away. He wanted to relish this. To taste her, to feel every quiver and shake of her body. To memorize her texture and heat against his tongue.

He couldn’t remember anything as erotic as the feeling of this woman moving against him. She responded to each slight touch.

And he responded too. His cock pulsed against his jeans, mimicking her trembles and shudders. He wanted to be buried deep inside her sweet body. Damn, he did. But he also wanted this.

He wanted to please her. To be on his knees, worshipping her with his mouth. A demon worshipping at the altar of a pure, innocent soul. He’d never wanted anything more.

Her trembling became more intense, and he could tell she was getting close. He flicked his tongue faster against her, until she seized, her body tensing under him. He moved his hands to her hips, holding her as her knees buckled with the intensity of her release.

But still he didn’t leave her. He continued to lave her, accepting her orgasm as his reward.

“Killian,” she whimpered as her arousal began to build again.

“Give me another one, baby,” he murmured against her wet, swollen flesh. She writhed, her fingers pulling at his hair.

He loved her reaction, wanton and unguarded. So different from the Poppy who usually held her emotions in check.

She came for him again, this one quicker, shorter, but no less intense. He stayed with her until she sagged against the brick wall, spent. Then he rose, his lips glossed with her. He kissed her and she returned the embrace without hesitation, her arms coming around his neck.

“Feel good?” he asked her.

She nodded, her eyes heavy, her body limp. He wished that he could just lift her into her bed and crawl in beside her. Holding her until they both slept.

He paused at that thought, the tenderness of it.

Sex was one thing. But to want that kind of intimacy? That unnerved him.

Even in her sated state, she seemed to sense the shift in him. She righted herself, using the wall to regain her balance. She quickly brushed down her skirt, her sleepy bliss replaced by flustered awkwardness.

He didn’t want that.

“Poppy,” he said, but she cut him off.

“We’ll just blame this on the photos,” she said, bending down to snatch up her panties. Her movements were jerky as she struggled to tug the tiny piece of clothing over her ballet flats and up her legs.

“I think it was more than the photos,” he said, but she didn’t seem to be listening as she straightened herself.

“We should probably go.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze. Nor did she wait for a response, heading to the door, although her escape was probably not as speedy and graceful as she’d have liked. He could see her legs were still shaky.

He caught up with her, putting a hand to her back to steady her. She flinched slightly at the touch, and he felt exactly like the cad she’d dubbed him the other night.

They made their way back to the exhibition floor. Killian left Poppy waiting by the doors as he went to gather her coat and purse from the coat check.

As he walked back toward her, there was no missing her slightly mussed look and the blush coloring her skin. She looked like a woman who’d been well loved. Unfortunately, she also looked like a woman who was painfully embarrassed by that fact.