by Kathy Love
“I was still in grad school at BU—Boston University,” she heard herself saying. “I was in my last year, working on a doctorate in children’s literature as well as a minor in illustration. I had an apartment with …” With the love of her life, but she didn’t say that. “With my boyfriend at the time. He was a music major.”
Killian raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t understand what that response meant.
“I was actually at the library doing some research for my thesis when I received that call. Sitting among the stacks as some stranger’s voice told me I needed to come to Boston General. That my parents had been in an accident.”
Killian rose from the table then, coming over to her, stopping just in front of her. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t touch her, but his closeness seemed to urge her on.
“I rushed to the hospital, praying, just praying to God, to any god out there who would listen, that they were okay. When I got to the ICU, I was told that my father was pronounced dead at the scene. Killed on impact.
“My mother lived for four days. Four horrible days when I held it together, telling Daisy we would be okay. Telling myself we would be okay. Telling myself my mother would be fine. She’d survive. And never quite believing any of it.”
She pulled in a shuddering breath, all that pain coming back as crystal clear as if it had just happened again today.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, his eyes searching hers.
Killian touched her then. Just a hand reaching out to capture hers. Her fingers burned, icy against the heat of his palm. Aching like warmth coming back into a frostbitten limb.
She snatched her hand away, not looking at him, staring down at her fingers instead.
She couldn’t deal with this. She didn’t want to feel this.
Pulling in a deep breath, she straightened. She braced herself, pushing the memories away. Pushing those emotions back, back to the recesses of her mind where they belonged. Where they couldn’t hurt her.
“Oh, my,” she said, her voice sounding far more calm and controlled then she would have imagined possible. “The meat is burning.”
She turned then, retrieving the spoon to tend the ground turkey, focusing all her thoughts on the task.
Killian watched Poppy for a moment. Man, if he thought he had the power to control thoughts and feelings, he had nothing on the slight woman in front of him.
He’d seen the anguish on her face. Pain that was so deep it cried out to him. And then, within the blink of an eye, she’d shoved the emotions away. No, not away, back inside, a wall coming up like some invisible shield keeping the world at bay and her feelings guarded deep inside.
He wouldn’t begin to call himself an expert on emotions. Hell, he wasn’t even a novice, but he could see that what Poppy was doing wasn’t good for her.
Pain always needed an outlet. When angered, you yelled. When injured, you screamed. When heartbroken, you cried.
Instinctively, he knew she’d never done those things.
“So did you get the lettuce done?” she said after she rescued the meat from becoming a charred mess.
He nodded, knowing she wasn’t going to talk about her past anymore. Not now anyway.
“Sort of,” he said, returning to the table. “You did want it to look like mush, right?”
She shot him an alarmed look, then saw his smile and realized that he was teasing. Still, she came over to inspect his work.
“Pretty good.”
He smiled wider, oddly pleased by her compliment.
She crossed back to the stove before she added, “It will still taste good—even as mush.”
She shot him a quick smile, then turned back to her cooking.
Killian remained watching her for a moment, then caught himself, returning to his work too. But he had to admit there was something about Poppy that intrigued him.
Maybe he was starting to see why Daisy had made this wish for her. Poppy did deserve some happiness. She deserved to let go of that pain inside her. To move on.
And he had to keep focused on finding her that. As quickly as possible.
“Hey,” a voice called from the other room, and Killian looked away from Poppy just as Daisy entered the kitchen. But not before Daisy noticed the direction of his gaze.
Poppy turned around to see her sister, and a fond smile curled her lips. A smile she’d never bestowed on him. A smile that revealed a small dimple in her left cheek and made her dark eyes glitter with warm affection.
“Hi. Killian and I were just making dinner.”
Daisy frowned, her gaze moving from her sister to him and back again. “That’s good.”
“Is Madison with you?”
“Um, no. Her mom is home.”
“She is?” Poppy shot Killian a surprised look, saying to him, “I thought she was working tonight?”
Killian opened his mouth to tell her some excuse. An excuse he hadn’t even formulated yet, but fortunately, Daisy answered for him.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you asked me about Emma.” She laughed, smacking a palm to her forehead. “I’m totally out of it from working on that project. Emma’s mother is home—and Madison went there to eat.”
Poppy nodded, clearly accepting her sister’s excuse. Apparently, Madison hopped from friend to friend’s on a regular basis.
“Well, we’re having tacos. And Killian is joining us since Ginger is at work.”
Daisy nodded, but when Poppy turned back to the stove, she narrowed a warning look toward him.
He frowned, not understanding what had irritated her.
From the other room, a song suddenly began to play. Killian recognized it as the rapid-fire refrain of REM’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It.”
The eighties were making a resurgence in Hell too.
“Your phone,” Daisy said to her sister.
“I hear it.” Poppy turned down the heat under the frying pan and hurried from the room. Killian heard her answer; then her voice faded as she moved into another room.
“What are you doing?” Daisy asked.
Killian shook his head, confused. “I’m befriending your sister. Like you wanted.”
Daisy studied him for a moment. “Okay, that’s good. I just didn’t expect to find you back here today.”
“Well, as you so kindly pointed out to me, I have to stay in that horrible apartment until the wish is granted. So I’m pretty inspired to get this done.” And, of course, Vepar’s appearance had also spurred him on, but he wasn’t going to mention that.
“Okay,” Daisy said. “Good. Just remember you can’t decide you’re into my sister. I want her to have a human boyfriend.”
“Believe me, I’m not going to decide I’m into your sister.” He waited for the absolute ludicrousness of that idea to hit him, but it didn’t. At least, not with the certainty he thought it would.
No, he was here to matchmake … and not himself. At least, not for real.
CHAPTER 11
“It’s going great,” Daisy told her friends as they walked down the hallway toward Mrs. Maloney’s apartment. “Killian stayed for dinner last night, and he was perfectly nice. Charming, even.”
Emma looked impressed. Madison, of course, did not.
Daisy continued, talking directly to Emma. “I think Poppy was really getting comfortable around him. He even did the dishes.”
Emma giggled at that. “A demon doing your dishes. That’s pretty wild.”
“It was,” Daisy agreed, laughing too.
“I’m telling you, this isn’t going to work,” Madison said.
Daisy shook her head, frustrated with her negative-Nellie friend. “It is. He’s”—she lowered her voice, even though the hall was empty—“a demon. He can make it happen.”
“But even if he has promised that he wouldn’t ever be interested in Poppy, what if she falls for him? You know, instead of falling for some other guy?” Madison asked.
Emma sobered. “That’s true. He is r
eally cute—you know in an old-guy, demon way. What if she decides he’s her true love? You could end up with a demon as a brother-in-law.”
Daisy had considered that last night—not that Poppy had done anything that even hinted she liked him. In fact, she never got close to him. She definitely didn’t flirt, but then Daisy wasn’t sure Poppy even knew how to flirt.
“Well, he has to do what we say,” Daisy said reasonably.
“But Poppy doesn’t,” Madison pointed out.
Some of Daisy’s happiness faded. Why wouldn’t Poppy fall for a guy like Killian?
She rapped on Mrs. Maloney’s door and waited. After several seconds and another round of insistent knocks, the door jerked open and Killian stood there, wearing nothing but his black pants. Hair unruly from sleeping stuck out all over his head, and a night’s worth of facial hair darkened his jaw.
He looked like a pirate. He looked pretty hot.
She grimaced. Well, you know, hot for an old guy.
He groaned. “Why are you here so early?”
“School.” She pointed to her uniform and her book bag.
He didn’t respond, except to continue scowling. Well, he was clearly not a morning person. Neither was Poppy.
Crap, she didn’t want to consider similarities between the two.
“We just wanted to check in with you before we left. What’s your plan for today?”
Plan?
Killian gritted his teeth. These girls were damned slave drivers. He hadn’t slept for shit. In fact, he’d only just dozed off maybe an hour or so ago, and now they woke him because they wanted an agenda. He just wanted to crawl back between his flowery sheets and sink into oblivion.
“I was sleeping … so a plan wasn’t really on my mind at the moment.”
“Well, this will only take a second,” Daisy said, clearly unconcerned that she was talking to a very irritated and frankly irrational demon. “We have debate at eight-fifteen.”
Debate. Given the fact that this girl always had an answer and more than a little tenacity, he didn’t think that was a class she really needed.
“So here’s the thing. I don’t want you to be interested in Poppy, but you also have to make sure she doesn’t become interested in you.”
He stared at her. This was what they had to talk about at such an ungodly hour?
Daisy looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t respond. Honestly, he was afraid of what would come out if he opened his mouth. Besides, he thought his glower probably said enough.
Apparently not, because as usual, this slip of a girl stared back, unfazed.
“So be nice to her, but not too nice,” she said.
This was getting absurd. Utterly, utterly absurd.
Madison flipped open her hot pink cell phone and checked the time. “We have to go.”
“Have a good day,” Daisy said with a smile. “Maybe you should take Poppy out to lunch or something. Someplace with lots of people. You know, a place where there are available men.”
The girls hurried away, and again he was amazed by their lack of concern over his demonic status. Maybe what all the worried moralists said was true: Movies and TV had desensitized the youth today.
One thing was clear. If good wanted to put evil its place, just send in a group of teenage girls.
He turned back into the apartment, not even bothering to register any of the antiquated horrors. He was too tired. He beelined straight back to his old-lady bedroom, stripped off his pants and collapsed back onto the lumpy mattress that was probably as old as its owner.
“Be nice, but not too nice,” he muttered to himself as the sleep that had eluded him most of the night finally took hold.
“Killian …”
He groaned. Damn, who was it now?
“Killian—wake up, my love.”
My love? He struggled to open his eyes, but his lids refused to open as if they were adhered together. Finally, he cracked them, blinking to focus in the dim light.
Gradually, the form at the end of the bed came into view.
“Poppy?”
She walked closer to the bed. Actually walking didn’t do justice to her movement. Sashaying—that was the right word. Her hips swayed as she came closer. Each movement was accented by the satiny material of …
“What are you wearing?” he asked, unable to keep the shock out of his voice.
She looked down at herself, then back at him. “Oh, this? Just something comfy.”
Comfy was the T-shirts and jeans and worn sweaters he’d seen her in. This was a slinky chemise, colored deep pink, the warm hue bringing out the porcelain pinkness of her skin. The material showed off every lithe curve: the delicate angles of her shoulders, her small but perfectly rounded breasts, the subtle curve of her hips.
She continued to the edge of the bed, stopping to look down at him. The bed dipped under her slight weight as she sat down beside him, facing him. In a mesmerized daze, he watched as she reached out a hand to brush her fingers over his cheek.
Her touch smoothed over him, as warm and soft as fur. His body reacted instantly. His muscles tensed. His groin ached with need as he came to full, hard arousal.
“Killian,” she whispered. “Killian …”
Her voice trailed off into a weird hiss, but even that didn’t detract from the sharp longing coursing through him. A longing that was so strong, so intense—
“Shit!”
Killian shot upright in bed, touching a hand to the piercing pain that suddenly stung his cheek.
Poppy. Where was she? And why had she scratched him? But instead of seeing her standing over him, he saw the sudden movement of something matted and dingy white shooting off the end of the bed, thumping to the floor and skittering out of the room.
The fucking cat, he realized.
He looked around him again, still disoriented. Poppy wasn’t here. He’d been dreaming.
He lifted his hand away from his face to see smears of blood on his fingers. That damned cat.
Falling back onto the mattress, he kept his hand pressed to his cheek.
“Cats and teenage girls,” he growled. “Pure evil.”
He closed his eyes, trying to get some control over his cloudy head. It had been a dream. Nothing but a dream. Poppy hadn’t come to him in a sexy negligee. She hadn’t stroked his skin, driving his senses and body wild. He was not attracted to her.
All of it had been a strange figment of his imagination. A dream created by the ridiculous orders of the adolescent girls who ruled his life at the moment.
Who wouldn’t have weird dreams under these circumstances?
“Just a crazy dream,” he assured himself.
Which was all fine and dandy, but did not explain his still-hard erection, tenting the floral comforter like an effin’ maypole.
His eyes snapped open as the mattress shifted. The cat sat at the end of the bed, looking decidedly smug.
“You are evil,” he muttered to the hideous beast.
“That goes without saying,” the cat answered.
Killian blinked, his dick instantly shriveling. Why hadn’t he suspected this was Vepar all along?
“Did you scratch me?” Killian snapped. He didn’t like Vepar on the best of days, but at this moment—let’s just say he’d give serious thought to strangling the cat if that would kill Vepar too.
“No, I didn’t,” Vepar said, lifting a paw and inspecting it. “But I gotta say, I do kinda like this animal.”
Killian didn’t say a word, or even make any expression. He’d pushed his luck enough by being so terse.
Vepar sighed, his furry chest inflating, then deflating. “So … why are you still here?”
Killian sat up. “I haven’t found this woman a mate. It’s … it’s taking a little time.”
The cat’s head bobbed, and Killian thought Vepar was going to be understanding—just a little.
“Well, you could just kill her.”
“Kill her?”
“Sure. Kill her
. If this mortal is dead, then you can’t find her a mate, and you can get back to Hell and work, where you belong.”
Yeah, that was more the response he should have expected from Vepar. He wasn’t just a demon; he was an ass too.
“Killing her seems a little extreme, plus she’s the only person the kid who conjured me has,” Killian said. “I’ll fix this quickly—and my way,” he added.
“Fine.”
Right away, Killian could tell when Vepar left the cat’s body. Gone was the calm, intelligent air, replaced by a narrowed, wary stare, a twitching tail, and an attack posture.
But instead of another attack, the cat shot off the bed and skittered out of the room.
Killian threw back the covers and headed to the bathroom. Any lingering effects of his sexy dream were gone, so he opted for steaming hot water. He needed to get thinking clearly—and apparently he did need a plan.
He washed with quick efficiency, while his mind turned over the best way to find Poppy a soul mate. But as he finished rinsing, then stepped out of the shower to towel off, he still wasn’t sure how to undertake such a task.
He wandered back to the bedroom and tugged on the clothes he was wearing for a third day. He hated to put them back on again, but he didn’t have much choice. He needed a razor too. And a toothbrush. And some deodorant.
Wait, that could be a start. He’d ask Poppy to show him where to buy the items he needed. That would get her out of the house. Then they would go to—lunch. The girls had suggested lunch.
He smiled at himself in the mirror above the ornate, antique dresser, pleased that he had a plan. He wasn’t going to see Poppy killed—that was for sure. Of course, Vepar always went for the most extreme solution. Even Satan would not approve of that. Killing was only allowed if the person was evil. Sort of damned-soul harvesting, if you will. And Poppy didn’t have an evil bone in her body. Not even a slightly wicked one.
Good, he had a plan. But this time his smile faded as he really saw the scruffy, tired face looking back at him. He looked like hell. Well, Daisy needn’t worry. There was no risk of attracting Poppy’s interest. Between the dark circles under his eyes, unshaven cheeks and wrinkled clothes, he looked more like a vagrant than someone Poppy would consider a romantic interest.