by Kathy Love
“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 hand
s 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.
CHAPTER 23
“Whoa, 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 wit
h 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.