Truth or Demon

CHAPTER 22

Killian 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.

He sat down on the step beside her, even though from her stiffening posture he could tell she didn’t want him there. And certainly not this close.

As if to punctuate that thought, she shifted away from him and began pulling at her boot again.

He placed a hand on top of hers, his larger one completely covering her tiny one.

“Please stop. Please,” he said, an almost desperate quality to his voice, only because he didn’t quite know what else to do.

Apparently that worked, because her hand stilled. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away. He liked the softness of her skin. Too much.

He knotted his own fingers together, his elbows resting on his thighs.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, not sure where he was going with this, but deciding that following his gut was the best strategy.

“Why did you say we would go?”

He could see her staring at him from the corner of his eye, but coward that he was, he didn’t look back. Her teary eyes ate at him.

But her question was a good one. And deserved a good answer.

He decided just to state the facts as he saw them. He had no doubt they would be the wrong facts. After all, what did he know or understand about these kinds of emotions? But here he went, right or wrong.

“I know this Adam guy hurt you. But this is how I see it—” He pulled in a breath, preparing for her to stomp away before he could get half the explanation out.

“He was a selfish jerk,” he said, “who left because things got too difficult. For him. Instead of thinking about the struggle and sacrifice you were going through, losing your parents, taking care of your sister, giving up school, he just thought about how the change affected him.”

He paused, waiting. But Poppy remained seated. Totally motionless, in fact. He glanced at her. She stared at the boot in her hand, and he wondered if she was even listening to him. Maybe she was just thinking of ways to injure him with the three-inch heel.

At the risk of said heel to the face, he kept going. “He should have stood by you. Helped you. He should have been there to ease your pain, not add to it. Clearly, he still causes you pain, and I just can’t see letting him hurt you any longer. No man is worth that. Especially one who’d walk away when you needed him.”

Again he waited, prepared for her to go, or yell, or …

She released a shuddering breath, then sniffed.

Oh, damn. More tears. He’d do better with yelling.

“So how’s seeing him going help stop the pain?”

Her voice was low, barely above a whisper, so he had to lean closer to hear her. Their shoulders brushed, and a jolt of longing shot through him like a violent zap of static. How could he want her, even now when things were so far from sexual between them?

But he forced himself to focus on her question. It had merit. A lot of merit. And he did have an answer for it.

“Because you will walk in there, head high, and show him you’re fine. That you don’t need him. Letting him know you’ve moved on could be the best catharsis.”

She didn’t speak for a moment.

“But I haven’t moved on.”

Killian supposed in her mind she hadn’t. She was still raising her sister. She was still working at a job she didn’t love instead of working on her art. She was still alone. But he saw her as someone who showed the world she was strong and could handle anything. She was clearly tougher than this idiot Adam.

“You have. You’ve kept your family together. You’ve been one tough cookie.” She looked at him then, and he gave her an encouraging smile. “But we can make the moving on seem bigger.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well …”

Why was he offering to do this? Because this guy deserved to see that someone else got the amazing woman he gave up.

“You won’t be there alone,” he said, then made a show of straightening his collar and making himself presentable. “You’ll be there with your fiancé.”

Poppy studied him. Was he really suggesting himself? Her heart skipped a few beats at the idea. Why? What he was offering was just another charade.

“Just like the kiss.”

Killian frowned. “What?”

She shook her head, which only made her thoughts more confusing and the sidewalk spin. She touched a hand to her temple. Wooziness filled her head like fog, clouding her thoughts, making it hard to think straight.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked, placing a hand on her back.

She shook her head. “Too much wine.”

“Okay,” he said, taking the boot she still held from her limp fingers. “Let’s get you home.”

He lifted her foot onto his knee, and the sudden shift made her topple back against the steps’ railing with a soft grunt. She lay there, eyes closed, willing away the vertigo that only seemed to be getting worse.

“Are you okay?”

When she opened her eyes, Killian leaned over her, his eyebrows pinched together with worry. His eyes golden even in the low light. He really was all golden and beautiful.

She reached up to run her finger along his jawline. She could feel stubble, a rough and sensual friction against her fingertips.

“You’d make a nice fiancé,” she murmured more to herself than him.

He remained still, letting her stroke him.

“You are very beautiful,” she whispered.

Killian caught her hand then and lowered it to her side. He straightened and began working on getting her boot on. She remained lounging back against the railing as she felt his large, strong hand on her ankle, lifting her foot, slipping the boot on.

“It’s like you are Prince Charming,” she said, then giggled.

“Hardly.” She could hear the derision in his voice. Derision that was clearly aimed at himself.

She levered herself up, still feeling light-headed, but able to focus. Well, occasionally there were two of him, but that wasn’t really a bad thing.

“You don’t think you are the gallant type?”

He looked up from zipping her boot. “Definitely not.”

“Are you a cad? A scoundrel?”

He smiled at that, the slight twist of his lips making him look deliciously roguish. “Now that would be more accurate.”

He held out his hand to her and she placed hers in it without hesitation. He helped her to her feet, making sure she stood slowly. Clearly, he did not trust her to maintain her balance. She swayed. Probably a good decision. Looping an arm around her, he anchored her against his side. She fit right in the crook of his arm and shoulder, and she couldn’t stop herself from resting her head against his chest.

Their progress was slow, because walking seemed to be terribly tricky.

“So why would I marry a scoundrel?” she asked once she’d gotten the rhythm of their gait.

“That is a good question,” he said, and while she couldn’t take her eyes away from the sidewalk—at least not without the real risk of breaking something—she could still tell he was smiling.

“Although,” he added, “scoundrels can be a lot of fun.”

Poppy didn’t doubt that. Despite the ups and downs of the evening, she had to admit it was the most fun she’d had for a long time.

“Especially that kiss.”

“You liked the kiss, huh?” he said.

She giggled at her admission. Well, she had discovered one thing tonight. Wine made her very loose-lipped.

“It was nice,” she said, although her fuddled mind wanted to say much more than that. But somehow she kept the other comments reined in. Words like: Wonderful. Delicious. Erotic. Again, please.

“I liked it too.”

Forgetting her need to focus, she glanced at him.

He smiled back, although that beautiful smile didn’t last long, as she tripped and he scrambled quickly to catch her.

She wondered if Killian ever missed.

“Careful,” he said, slowing his pace even more.

She nodded and was relieved when she saw the front door of their apartment building. He helped her up the steps and straight to the elevator.

Once inside, she leaned in the corner, wishing she could just slide down the wall and sit. She wanted to sit. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

Her jumbled thoughts moved on to other things she’d like to do. Take off these boots. Lie down. Sleep.

She opened her eyes, just a little, but enough to see Killian standing nearby, watching her.

She’d like to lie down with him. Sleep with him. Do more than sleep with him. He was her fiancé, after all.

She giggled.

“What?” he asked, confused but smiling.

She shook her head, which wasn’t good. She splayed her arms out to her sides to balance herself. Again Killian was right there, hands on her waist, holding her up.

“You are drunk, imp.” She could hear laughter in his deep voice.

“Imp?”

He smiled. “You are definitely an imp.”

“I picture imps having big ears.”

He chuckled. “Well, you are a cute imp. And your ears appear to be regular size.”

She smiled up at him, only to realize how very close he was. His body nearly pinned her in the corner of the elevator as his hands remained at her hips.

Her breasts suddenly ached, feeling heavier, fuller. Her nipples felt sensitive against the satiny material of her bra. And the delicious ache crept lower and lower, centering between her thighs until she felt swollen and needy, her body begging for release from the slow, building yearning.

“If you are going to be my believably wicked scoundrel fiancé, shouldn’t you practice doing things that are naughty and depraved?”

Had she really just said that? She had. And it felt good.

Killian hesitated for a second, but his gaze locked on her parted lips. He nodded.

“Yes, I suppose I should.”

He lowered his head, his lips brushing slowly over hers, his large body pinning her against the cold metal of the elevator wall.

She moaned. Heaven.

Killian told himself he shouldn’t. But Poppy looked so adorably wanton, her arms spread against the elevator wall. Her eyes half closed, sultry. Her pink lips parted, inviting.

He had to steal a taste. But now, a quick sample seemed impossible. Their kiss had turned into a slow, long savoring of each other. Her lips clung to his, his body rolling against hers. Their movements unrushed, but no less filled with desperate hunger.

Then one of her hands left the wall to stroke his back, running up and down its length until she found the hem of his shirt and slipped her fingers under the cotton.

Small fingers shaped to the muscles of his back, smoothing over his hot skin.

He groaned, that simple touch igniting him. He pinned her harder to the elevator wall. One of his hands left her waist, sliding down her outer thigh to hook his hand around her knee.

He lifted her leg so it was curled around the back of his thigh and he was wedged tighter against her. Their bodies ground against each other. And the slow, sensual kissing took on a frenzied passion.

With his hand still anchored beneath her knee, his other hand found the hem of her sweater, snaking underneath, caressing the velvety skin of her stomach. Up higher and higher to tease the underside of her breast.

He cupped her, feeling the hard prod of her erect nipple through lace. He flicked his thumb over it, and she gasped into his mouth. He did it again and received another gasp.

Her breath become his own. One. One.

He froze, something akin to fear dousing the desire coursing through him.

This wasn’t right. Not with her drunk. Not with him here to find her a man. And especially not with his being a demon.

She deserved better.

He eased her leg down and stepped away from her, careful to make sure she didn’t fall.

She swayed but remained on her feet.

“I think we should get you home.”

She pouted, her expression utterly cute, but he forced himself to ignore that fact.

“I liked what we were doing.”

He smiled despite himself. She was so going to regret this in the morning. If he thought otherwise, he’d be tempted to take her to his fussy, floral bed. Very tempted.

Instead, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to keep the touch as impersonal as he could. Not an easy task considering what they’d just done.

“I think you’ll like getting some sleep just as much.”

“Mmm-mm.” She shook her head.

He chuckled.

He walked her to her apartment, fishing in her purse for her keys, as well as keeping her balanced against his side. Not an easy feat.

Once the door was unlocked, he helped her inside, relieved to see Daisy wasn’t in the living room. He didn’t want to explain why her older sister, her highly responsible, often laced-down older sister, was sloshed.

Without too much difficulty, he maneuvered Poppy to her bedroom. It was a pale green room with an antique four-poster bed and a simple, cream-colored duvet.

“Lie down, baby,” he said, half-setting her onto the bed. She fell back, her legs still hanging off the edge. He scooped them up, spinning her so she was fully on the mattress. He fixed the pillows. Then debated on whether he should try to undress her.

The erection in his pants told him that was probably a bad idea—at the very least an experiment in torture.

Instead, he placed a throw blanket from the foot of the bed over her.

“Sleep well, baby.” He placed a kiss on her forehead.

She nodded, with a sweet little smile on her lips, sleep already creeping over her.

He watched, all amusement and pleasure disappearing. He couldn’t get involved with this woman.

But even as he told himself that, his gaze roamed down her body, silhouetted by the blanket. Her delicate hands resting on her stomach. Her lovely face.

No. He couldn’t do that to her.

He turned and left the room, heading for the door. Then he stopped and returned to the hallway. Poppy would want him to be sure Daisy was okay.

He guessed that the door past Poppy’s was Daisy’s room. If the BEWARE: FALLING OBJECTS sign with a stick figure getting hit with things that looked like … ducks? was any indication.

He knocked lightly, deciding just opening a teenage girl’s bedroom door was probably not a good idea. He listened, then tapped again. Still no answer.

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.