Truth or Demon (11 page)

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.

That was good, right? Neither of them would be attracted to each other as per the orders of the adolescent boss girls.

Then he recalled how Poppy had looked in his dream and his intense reaction to her.

“A dream, buddy. Just a dream.”

Sighing, he decided it was time to get to work. Plus, he was starving.

Brunch was close to lunch, right?

C
HAPTER
12

T
he sharp rap on the apartment door startled Poppy.

Who could that be? Most days she didn’t talk with anyone. She still had a few friends from graduate school. But they’d all be at work at ten-thirty on a Monday.

Maybe it was a courier with a new manuscript. Her boss, Donald, had called last evening to ask if she had time to pick up a little extra work. But usually Donald told her if he was sending something over.

She stretched as she stood. She’d been huddled over her current manuscript, trying to stay focused and on task.

Occasionally, other thoughts had crept in. How much she’d enjoyed having dinner with Killian last night. How odd it was that she’d talked to him about her parents. How distracting his smile was.

She shoved those thoughts aside over and over. Killian was a nice guy—nicer than she’d first thought. He’d been an interesting distraction. But now it was back to her routine. Her work, Daisy, the usual.

But all that sensible reasoning couldn’t stop something in her chest from doing a little flip as she opened the door to find Killian standing on the other side.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he answered back, his eyes scanning her body before they locked with hers.

Again her body reacted, her heart jumping a little, her skin prickling with awareness. Even though she couldn’t decipher what his sweeping look meant.

“I was wondering if you could show me someplace to pick up toiletries and a few clothes.”

This time, it was Poppy’s turn for her gaze to roam over him. He hadn’t shaved, she could see that. And he was wearing the same clothes from yesterday. Actually, even from the day before that, now that she thought about it.

“What happened to your luggage?”

“Umm—the airline lost it.”

She frowned. “You flew?”

Not many people flew from Connecticut to Boston. Heck, that probably took longer than it did to drive. But she supposed someone might.

Clearly he had.

“I actually flew here from Sweden,” he said. “You know, visiting some family there. Some of my father’s family.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Wait. “But you said your mother’s family lived in Sweden.”

He paused for a second, then nodded. “That’s true. But some of my father’s family moved there too. Once he moved there.”

That made sense—she guessed.

“My father’s brother actually married my mother’s sister.”

“Really?” Poppy said. “That’s kind of romantic.”

“Is it?” His completely confused expression was so male. Of course he would have never considered that romantic.

She laughed, until she realized he was staring at her, his expression strange. And unreadable. She sobered.

“So you need a store?”

He glanced down at himself, then made a pained expression. “Yes. That would be good.”

She thought of the best place to send him. “Well, there is a strip mall one stop away on the T. On the red line. That should have everything you need.”

He frowned. “Aren’t you going to go with me?”

Poppy hesitated, thinking of that manuscript sitting only half completed on her desk. Playing hooky was so not her.

“Umm—Ginger can’t go with you?”

Killian frowned, not answering right away. “She’s sleeping. You know, because she worked—late.” “Right.”

“So you aren’t going to leave me on my own, are you?” He smiled then, that breathtaking smile she’d imagined more than a few times this morning.

She glanced back to her office as if somehow the actual manuscript would give her permission to take a little time off. Shocker—it didn’t.

“Surely you can take an hour or so to help out a traveler in need.”

She debated for a moment, then released a pent-up breath. “Sure. I can take a little while.”

He smiled then, but when her eyes locked on to the handsome curve of his sculpted lips, he sobered.

She didn’t quite understand his reaction, but she didn’t allow herself to ponder it. She’d definitely been doing enough pondering about him as it was.

“Let me grab a sweater.” She turned, leaving him in the doorway. She refused to look at the pages of manuscript as she hurried through her office to her bedroom.

She wasn’t going to feel guilty. After all, she was helping a friend—well, an acquaintance—in need.

See, Killian told himself as he watched Poppy dash off, no sexy Poppy of his dreams. She was clad just as he’d expected in another T-shirt. This one sported an image of Dr. Seuss’s Cat in the Hat. Along with her T-shirt, she wore a pair of faded jeans and fuzzy black-and-white socks. Her long hair was knotted messily on the top of her head.

Not a hint of the sexy vixen of his dream. And that, he told himself, was because dream Poppy was just that. Imaginary. A strange, unexplainable creation of his unconscious mind.

So he shouldn’t give it another thought. Period. He would stay focused on finding her a man. That was the best plan for all of them.

“Okay. Ready.” She returned to the door wearing a gray cable-knit sweater with big buttons. On her feet, she wore sneakers that looked more appropriate for a small boy.

Definitely not his type, he told himself as he watched her lock her door. Then she turned and smiled at him. He caught a glimpse of her dimple, and just like that, his body reacted, seeming to vibrate with awareness.

Okay, she was cute. Adorable, even—in a whimsical way. But still not his type. And adorable would make it easier to find her a match.

“Do you think we could stop and get a bite to eat first?” he asked.

“Umm—sure,” she said, falling into step beside him. “Do you have anything in mind?”

Daisy did have a point. He needed to get Poppy somewhere where there were men to meet. He glanced at her, noticing how tendrils of her brown hair had escaped the barrette and curled against the pale skin of her neck. Something like a sharp jolt of electricity shot through him again, and he fought the urge to groan.

He
had
to get out of here. When he started finding women in bulky cardigans and little-boy sneakers attractive, it was getting pretty damned strange. He was starting to think the spell had actually addled his brain. Time to just pick some guy, control his thoughts—assuming he could—make him fall for Poppy, and then get the hell out of here.

“I want to go someplace busy.”

She gave him an odd look, then said, “That would be Smiley’s.”

Smiley’s. Of course, he’d be taking the cute, whimsical girl to a place called Smiley’s.

As Killian stepped through the door, he realized Smiley’s wasn’t at all like what he’d been picturing. Surprisingly, the atmosphere was quite trendy in a bohemian coffee shop sort of way. Like a Starbucks meets an upscale diner meets a cool baroque salon.

A fire blazed in an ornate fireplace, the flames reflecting off the gilded walls and highly polished wood floors. Sofas upholstered in rich-colored velvets were situated in clusters here and there. Round tables and elegant chairs lined the walls.

Poppy led him to one of the tables, taking a seat.

“They have great omelets,” she told him, opening her menu. “And delicious waffles.”

He picked up his own menu but didn’t open it. Instead, he perused the place. Definitely an assortment of men. Some in suits. Some more casually dressed. A few ate and read the paper. Others sat with their coffees, talking on cell phones or typing away on computers. This was definitely a trendy hotspot. There should be plenty of prospective true loves for Poppy here.

He noticed a man just a few tables away. He was dressed in business casual, a decent shirt with a tie. He had a briefcase open on the chair beside him and papers spread out on the table.

His hair was trimmed in a typical business-guy style, and he wore wire-rimmed glasses. His build was average. A good steady sort of guy. He could work.

But Killian’s attention turned to another guy. He sat on one of the sofas, reading the paper. This guy wore a simple button-down shirt with jeans and boots. Maybe a little more laid-back than the briefcase guy. That might be a better fit for Poppy.

Killian’s gaze moved still to another man sitting by the fire, talking on his BlackBerry. The cut of his suit stated he had some money. Probably some power in his job. He was a little older than the other two. Hmm, that might be good for Poppy too.

Just pick one. The object here was to get this woman a boyfriend. Do it and be done.

But still he didn’t choose.

Poppy frowned, watching Killian. He’d been the one to say he was starving, yet he hadn’t even cracked open the menu. Instead, he’d been looking around, his attention going from one person to another. He’d tilt his head, narrow his eyes as if he was trying to decide something very important. Then his gaze would move on again.