Truth or Demon (23 page)

When Poppy walked back into the living room, Killian couldn’t miss the strange expression on her face.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, although the affirmation wasn’t exactly convincing. “Sometimes I get the feeling those girls are up to something.”

Oh, they were. He could attest to that. They were conjuring demons. And somehow Killian didn’t think Poppy would approve.

But he couldn’t explain even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. He had a strict order he couldn’t tell her he was a demon. And telling her about the conjuring would be outing himself.

Not that Poppy would believe him anyway.

“I’m sure they are just talking about boys or something,” he said instead. “Isn’t that what teenage girls do?”

“You’re right. They probably are,” she said, but again Killian didn’t get the feeling she quite believed that excuse.

“So are you ready?” Distraction seemed like the best tactic.

For many reasons.

“Yes.” She pulled in a breath as if to cast aside her current worries. But her mind managed to move right to another concern.

“Do you think this looks okay?”

Killian had thought her outfit looked more than okay as soon as she stepped into the room.

She’d changed into a white skirt with big red flowers. Poppies, appropriately enough. The skirt stopped just above her knees to reveal bare, shapely calves. With it, she wore a black camisole top and a bright red cardigan. The style suited Poppy. Still comfortable and casual, but fashionable too.

She looked beautiful.

But instead of telling her that, he simply said, “It’s nice.”

The expectant glitter in her eyes faded, and he got the feeling she’d been disappointed by his reaction. But before he could say anything else, she busied herself with getting her purse and a jacket.

Killian watched her bustling around, wanting to tell her what he really thought of the look. And knowing full well he shouldn’t.

In fact, his thoughts had been going lots of places they shouldn’t over the past few days. He’d been hanging around because he hated being in the flowery apartment, and he was avoiding Vepar. Plus, it did make sense to get to know Poppy better. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself. And sometimes he even believed it.

But that fact was he liked being around Poppy. He liked her smile and her laugh. He liked her sense of humor. He even liked her sense of style. The girl could rock a
Sesame Street
T-shirt like no one else.

In fact, it was when he started finding that look sexy that he decided they needed to hit the singles circuit again.

So he’d suggested going to the singles reception at the art gallery. He was doing far too much liking himself, and not enough finding other guys to like her.

Time to matchmake. Whether he wanted to or not. He’d been surprised when she’d agreed. And maybe a little disappointed too.

“Okay,” she said with a smile, “I’m ready.”

He nodded, holding out a hand for her to lead the way to the door.

He was ready for this too.

“Um, wow. This is …”

Poppy nodded, not even needing Killian to finish his thought. They stood among a bunch of strangers looking at photos of people….

Well, there was no delicate way to say it. Having sex.

Having sex in an artistic, black-and-white, avant-garde sort of way, but sex nonetheless, and quite graphically too.

“Maybe I should have read the ad more closely,” she said, not able to take her eyes off the photo in front of her showing a couple engaged in …

She tilted her head. Fellatio? Cunnilingus? Truthfully, she wasn’t really sure of the genders of the people involved. But it still managed to be very intimate and very erotic.

She glanced at Killian. He stared too, until a waitress clad from head to toe in shiny black vinyl walked past with a tray of champagne. He snagged two of the flutes, handing one to Poppy.

“I think we’re going to need this,” he said, taking a large gulp.

She sipped hers, agreeing with him, but not willing to have a repeat of the other night. The elevator incident flashed through her mind. No, she didn’t want a repeat of that, even as her body started to ache at the memory.

She took another sip of the pale gold liquid. Killian wasn’t as restrained. He guzzled his.

“We can go if you want.” Poppy said, once he’d finished his drink.

He shook his head. “No, this is fine. I’m sure we can meet some interesting people here.”

As if to validate his theory, a man wearing a corset, tight leather pants and a top hat walked by.

“But if you try going home with him, I’m going to have to stop you,” Killian said, eyeing the man dubiously.

“I think we’re good on that one.”

They shared a smile.

“I’m going to get another,” Killian said, lifting his glass, scoping the room for a waitperson. He spotted another, easily visible due to the shiny PVC garb.

“I’ll be right back,” he told her, almost as if he were afraid to leave her alone.

“I’m fine.” Which was true. She’d been startled by the initial realization of what the art exhibit consisted of, but really some of it was quite amazing. And not in just a shocking way.

She wandered along the wall, stopping to study some of the shots. Several were pretty scandalous, maybe even bordering on pornographic, while others, like the one she was in front of now, were actually very beautiful. A glossy photo of a couple clearly joined in intercourse, legs and arms entwined, rapture on their faces. It was really quite powerful. And very erotic.

Much to her dismay, Poppy felt her nipples pucker and harden at the sight. She glanced down at herself, glad her cardigan covered the evidence of her arousal.

She looked around for Killian. He’d gotten another glass of champagne and was now talking to a tall, buxom blonde.

A surge of something far too akin to jealousy shot through her.

Don’t, she told her wayward emotions. He wasn’t interested in her, and that was okay. She could admit that maybe she did have a mild crush on the man, but she knew he wasn’t her type. And he’d been open about his lingering feelings over his ex.

She snuck another look at him, his expression polite but uninterested. This wasn’t going to be the woman to stir his feelings again either.

She was blond.

Poppy turned back to the photo, telling herself the slight weakness in her muscles wasn’t relief. Nope. Not at all.

She smiled, allowing herself a moment to admit it totally was. She didn’t want Killian interested in a woman like that.

She wanted him interested in someone like …

Don’t go there.

Instead she focused her attention back on the art, on the couple tangled in passion. An image of being entwined with Killian flashed in her head. His body on top of hers, her legs wrapped around his waist. Their bodies connected as intimately as any man and woman could be.

“It’s quite powerful, isn’t it?”

Poppy jumped, snapped out of her daydream. Heat crept up her cheeks as she realized a strange man was standing next to her, watching her.

“Um”—she cleared her throat—“yes, this one is very powerful.”

He nodded, turning his attention back to the black-and-white photo. She wandered on to the next picture, and the man followed. Her first reaction was to be unnerved, but then she told herself that was silly. This was the point of the evening—to mingle. To meet single men, which meant actually talking to them.

“Have you seen this artist’s work before?” she asked him, her voice sounding a little higher than usual because of her nerves.

He smiled, and she noticed he was quite good looking, with straight teeth and dark hair. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. The gray shirt he wore brought out the steel color of his eyes. Both his shirt and pants looked expensive, but she wasn’t sure. Killian would know.

She mentally pushed Killian aside, forcing herself to pay attention to this man.

“No, I can’t say I have,” he said; his voice was gravelly and held a hint of some sort of accent. “My name is—Parve.”

Parve. That was unusual.

“I’m Poppy,” she offered, then opened her mouth to ask where he was from, but he spoke first.

“Poppy, that’s an unusual name.”

Killian had made that same observation just the other day, and she’d shared that her mother had adored wildflowers. That she considered them a symbol of beauty and survival.

She’d even told Killian what her mother had said so many times while hugging both her and Daisy.

“Love is like wildflowers; it’s often found in the most unlikely places.”

But to this man, Poppy just smiled and agreed.

“So, Poppy, are you really here alone?”

She hesitated, finding his question odd. This was a singles event, after all.

He must have sensed her misgivings, because he promptly added, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I saw you come in with another man.”

Oh, of course. Killian was pretty hard to miss. Apparently even to other men. The competition, she supposed.

“Oh, we are just friends.”

Parve nodded, but she got the distinct feeling he didn’t quite believe her. She supposed it was pretty hard to imagine that she wouldn’t be interested in a guy like Killian.

She shot a longing look toward Killian. And really, wasn’t she? Just a little?

“We’re just friends,” she repeated to the man in front of her.

Killian glanced past the blonde chattering at him. He wasn’t listening, but the occasional nod seemed to be enough to keep up his side of the conversation.

How could he focus when Poppy was talking to that guy? A guy he hadn’t sent to her.

He was supposed to pick out the man for her.

Yet, what difference did it make? The goal was to find her a man. It didn’t matter how. And he did need to get back to his world.

But still, he couldn’t stop watching her talking to that man. Something wasn’t right. His skin prickled with wariness, but he couldn’t pinpoint why.

Poppy laughed at something the man said, and again suspicion raked over Killian.

“Isn’t that funny?” the blonde said with a loud laugh, drawing him back to their conversation, such as it was.

“Very,” he said automatically, but his gaze went right back to Poppy.

The blonde began blathering on again, the words little more than white noise.

The man said something else, then touched Poppy’s arm.

Killian’s muscles tensed like a dog with its hackles going up.

“So you’re from here, then?”

Killian blinked at the woman. “Ah—yeah. I mean no. I’m from—Sweden.”

“Sweden!”

He nodded, his eyes back on Poppy again. Now she strolled away with the man, talking to him as if they’d known each other for years.

Killian gritted his teeth. Why was he even here if she was going to find her own man? The strange possessiveness he’d experienced other times returned, this time stronger than ever.

And again, he felt like something wasn’t right about that guy.

“Ah, so that little thing has caught your attention,” the blonde said, following Killian’s stare.

Killian fought the urge to glare at the woman, somehow irritated that she’d noticed where he was looking.

He shook his head. “We came here together. We’re just friends.”

The blonde laughed, the sound tinny and harsh.
“Friends
is not what’s in your eyes. You look ready to eat her up.”

C
HAPTER
26

“W
e are just friends,” Killian repeated, even as he stepped away from the blonde, edging in Poppy’s direction.

“Okay,” she said, the one word thick with doubt.

She smiled, disappointment clear in her heavily made-up eyes, but she didn’t try to stop him. In fact, she just repositioned herself beside another man a few feet away.

Killian turned his attention back to Poppy, who had walked to the other side of the room; only flashes of her bright red cardigan allowed him to make out where she was.

He strode in that direction, intent on speaking with her, only to catch himself when he was a few feet away. He stopped, lingering, half shielded by a potted ficus.

See, this was good, he told himself, peering between the branches. She was supposed to be meeting someone. That was the point of this evening.

So why didn’t it feel right?

The two continued to talk. Poppy didn’t appear to stiffen or pull away when the man placed a hand on her shoulder. But Killian felt his own muscles tighten. Like a lion ready to rear up and attack.

Poppy laughed again, and Killian clenched his teeth. Then a group of chatting singles a few feet away caught his attention. They were watching him. One man raised an eyebrow, clearly aware of and amused by Killian’s spying. The woman next to him looked less amused, and more bothered. Killian offered a tight smile and stepped out from his hiding place.

What was he doing? He was acting like a jealous husband stalking his wife. Or maybe ex-wife was more accurate, since she had every right to be talking to another man.

Of course, if he was Poppy’s husband, he wouldn’t have let her get away to begin with.

He paused at that thought. Okay, he was losing it. This guy wasn’t
another
man. That implied Killian was her man—which he wasn’t. And why was he even thinking things like keeping her versus letting her get away?

Stop it, buddy. Just stop.

The man’s hand slid from Poppy’s shoulder all the way down her arm as he leaned in to say something. His mouth was close to Poppy’s cute, little seashell ear. Close enough to smell her cinnamon scent. Close enough for his lips to brush against the pale skin of her neck. Right away distrust flared, along with his possessiveness. Whether he was being irrational or not, something about this guy made him very uneasy.

Without another consideration of what was right or wrong, what he was here to do or not do, he sent his thoughts to the man.

Get away from her.

The man glanced in his direction as if he’d heard Killian’s demand, but he didn’t drop his hand. In fact, he curled his fingers around her wrist, staking a claim.