by Kathy Love
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.”
CHAPTER 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.”
And there it was.
Her face felt stiff, as if there was a mask over it. She just waited, wondering what wording he would use in his attempt to make this apology seem kind and thoughtful. Rejection for the better good. But for the better good of whom?
“I don’t want you to feel forced to go see your ex this weekend.”<
br />
Wait? What? Wasn’t he going to talk about how he shouldn’t have kissed her? That it had been a mistake? A huge mistake?
“And though I’d love to see the guy’s face when he sees you and realizes you are doing great and”—he made a humorously derisive face—“that you are engaged to a fantastic guy, I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place.”
Poppy stared at him. There had to be more to this, right? Was he regretting offering himself up as her faux fiancé? That had to be it.
After a moment, when he clearly felt ill at ease with her silence, he added, “I put you in an awkward position where it will be uncomfortable if you go, and uncomfortable if you don’t. I’m sorry.”
“So you don’t want to go?” she asked, still sure the fiancé suggestion had to be the real problem.
“Oh,” he answered instantly, “I want to go. I think this Adam guy needs to see what he lost. But I shouldn’t have made that decision for you.”
Truthfully, she hadn’t given that portion of the evening a single thought. Her mind had been stuck on other parts of the night.
“So you aren’t going to apologize for kissing me?”
Confusion marred his features now. “I did apologize about the kiss at the bar, but you told me not to do it again.”
Ah. That’s why he wasn’t saying anything about the kiss in the elevator. He figured the same rule applied to that one too.
“So you do regret the kiss in the elevator?”
He frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t regret either kiss.”
He didn’t? Now she was thoroughly bewildered, and apparently that was evident on her face, because Killian added, “I didn’t apologize for the kiss in the bar because I regretted it, just for how I did it. Without asking you, or even giving you a clue to what my plan was.”
“Oh.” That was all her muddled mind could manage.
“And the only thing I regret in the elevator is the fact you were so tipsy. Because I knew you might be unhappy about it later.”
“Oh,” she said. Well, this wasn’t at all what she’d expected.
Killian studied Poppy’s dazed expression, not sure what she was thinking.
During the night, he’d come to a conclusion about Poppy Reed. More than she needed a boyfriend, she needed to remember who she was, the things she loved and that she was a very desirable woman.
At the risk of sounding like some new-age relationship guru, if Poppy got back to who she was, then she’d be ready to meet this true love Daisy wanted for her.
He’d also decided forcing Poppy to deal with Adam before she was ready wasn’t the right way to do that. Maybe she just needed to get comfortable with men and be herself. Maybe the past needed to stay in the past for now.
“I’m starting to think we both have things we need to work through. You need to—”
Poppy nodded, finishing his sentence for him. “I need to deal with Adam, and you need to come to terms with Agnetha.”
Agnetha?
But he nodded, “Exactly.” Who or what was an Agnetha?
“I’m sorry,” she said, giving him a pained look. “Madison told me about your fiancée.”
Of course. Another brilliant story from the minds of teens. So now he had an ex-fiancée. At least he assumed she was an ex. It really would be nice of the girls to share these little facts of his pretend history with him.
“I hope it’s okay that I know. Madison told me because I was confused by your dislike of blondes.”
He disliked blondes? Then he remembered the food court and his rejection of the tall blonde.
“Oh, sure, it’s okay,” he said.
So this was the story the girls had come up with to fix that snafu. He didn’t like blondes because of a blond fiancée. He supposed that was as good an excuse as any.
Poppy reached forward and touched his hand. “It must have been very hard.”
He nodded, looking down at her hand on his. “Yes, it was.”
So, girls, what awful thing happened? Did she die? Did they realize they weren’t suited? Maybe she left him for another man?
“And to leave you for the minister.”
Or for a man of the cloth. Of course. Couldn’t these girls ever come up with a normal story?
“Yes, that was very hard.” He nodded, looking down, feigning pain. “And makes you question your faith.”
Poppy squeezed his hand, her dainty fingers feeling good against his.
“They also told me about how you lost your show too. Seeing her every day, you had to leave—I’m sure.”
Ah, yes, his Swedish paranormal show that he apparently worked on with his ex-fiancée, Agnetha.
“What was your show called?” she asked.
Shit. He didn’t know. But neither did she, so he could just make up anything, right?
“Umm, Paranormal … Time.”
“Paranormal Time?”
“Well, that’s a loose translation from Swedish.” He paused, suddenly afraid maybe this wasn’t the Swedish television show they were talking about. Did he have another show? A non-paranormal one?
But Poppy nodded as if his response made perfect sense.
“But yes,” he said, moving back to the point of this whole conversation, “I think maybe we both need more time to work through how to date again. How to have any sort of relationship.”
Poppy didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she squeezed his hand and released him.
“I know you must still have things to work through,” she said as she shifted back against the pillows. “Look at me, the mere mention of Adam, and I wind up acting like a fool and sporting a hangover.”
Killian nodded, glad his tactic had worked.
Poppy yawned, and she let her head fall back against the pillows. She blinked, then blinked again, and he could tell she was exhausted.
He was too. All this emotional-sharing crap really drained a person. And a demon too, apparently.
“Why don’t you nap?” he said softly.
She widened her eyes as if doing so would suddenly cast off her sleepiness.
“I need to get to work. I have just a couple chapters left to edit in a law text.”
“Okay, well, stay still and let me get it for you. You can work on the couch today.”
She looked as if she was going to argue, then nodded. “The chapters are on my desk, and I need the red pencils that are there too.”
He nodded, heading off to her office. The first thing he noticed was her desk. Beautiful and antique, he noted as he gathered the items she needed. Then he went to the bookshelf beside her desk to find a large hardcover book she could use as a makeshift writing surface.
He pulled one out, flipping it to read the cover. The book had no title or author printed on it. Curious, he flipped the book open. Inside were drawings. Vivid, magical images created in colored pencil. Some in ink.
Poppy’s illustrations. Worlds of fairies and dragons and princesses and castles. They were amazing.
He looked back to the bookshelf, realizing there several more books like this one. Hundreds and hundreds of pictures Poppy had produced, images from her own mind.
“Are you finding everything okay?” she called from the other room.
He carefully replaced the sketchbook and grabbed another one, a hardcover about jewelry making, and returned to her.
“Yes,” he said with a smile. “I think I got everything.”
He handed her the items, then watched as she got herself situated. Once done, she looked up at him, one brow lifted in silent question.
“I’m just going to go clean up the kitchen,” he told her.
“You don’t have to do that.”
He shrugged. “I want to. Cleaning helps me think. You know, about this new show idea.”
“Okay,” Poppy said. “But I can clean it up later. You cooked, so I should clean.”
“Nah,” he said. “I’ve got it.” Plus he didn’t want to go back to that apartment. He’d much ra
ther stay in Poppy’s bright, homey place. And if he was being honest, in her presence.
“Go ahead and work. I’m fine.”
Poppy did as he said and turned her attention to her editing. As she worked, she could hear Killian moving around the kitchen. Dishes being washed, cupboards being opened and closed. Unlike earlier, she found the noises pleasant. Comforting. Nice.
She finished a chapter, then allowed herself to drop her head back against the couch cushions and just listen to him cleaning.
Her thoughts drifted, thinking of what he’d said about both of them needing time to let go of their past relationships. He was right.
She should be over Adam, but she’d just never dealt with her loss. Maybe it was time.
Then she thought about Killian’s kisses. And her reaction to them. It might have been the alcohol, it probably was, but she didn’t recall Adam’s kisses affecting her like that.
Passionate, all-encompassing, earth-shattering kisses. Even just the memories made her breathless.
Of course, there hadn’t exactly been many kisses since Adam. None to be exact. So maybe any kiss would have thrown her body into overdrive.
One thing was for sure: She did need to let Adam go. She needed to stop holding on to the past. She felt a closeness with Killian over this. He understood her hurt over Adam, because he’d lived through heartbreak too.
“Are you feeling okay?”
Poppy opened her eyes to see Killian leaning in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel, concern burning in his golden eyes.
She smiled, then said with certainty, “Yes, and I want to go to that gig.”
CHAPTER 25
“He’s been here the past few evenings,” Daisy whispered, peering around the corner from the hallway to spy on her sister and Killian in the living room. They sat on the couch, one of them on each end, watching television.
“Well, he said he was going to get to know her,” Madison said, watching them with her.
Emma snuck occasional peeks too.
“But how’s he going to find her Mr. Right, if all they do is hang out in our apartment?”
Killian said something to Poppy and she laughed. Her reaction seemed real and carefree. Daisy loved hearing her laughter. She loved seeing her sister having fun. She was just worried.