He nodded. “We’re here.”
Poppy frowned. Most of the buildings along this street looked like brownstone apartments. Spring flowers had started to bloom in some of the flower boxes. And though it was beautiful, she couldn’t see why they were here.
She finally gave up, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “Why are we here?”
He chuckled, the sound low and rich. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward one of the brownstones. As they walked up the concrete steps, Poppy noticed a sign painted on the frosted glass of the front door in scrolling green lettering.
A Garden in Every Childhood.
“What is this?” Poppy asked.
“Go look.” He pushed open the door for her to enter.
She glanced at him, and he gave her an encouraging smile.
She stepped inside and realized it was a gallery. But unlike last night’s gallery, there was nothing “adult” about this exhibition. Instead of a world of the erotic, she was suddenly enveloped by an atmosphere of enchantment.
She walked farther into the room, her senses overwhelmed by color and texture and whimsy. Paintings of various sizes hung on the walls. Some done in watercolor, some in pencil, some in oils. All depicted fantasy worlds. Fairies, dragons, magical lands.
Poppy turned slowly, taking in everything until she’d come full circle back to face Killian.
“What is this place?”
“It’s a gallery that sells fantasy artwork. Some of the art here is from children’s books. A lot is just made specifically to sell.”
She gazed around her again, moving to look more closely at an amazing painting of a pond scene with flowers and water lilies and iridescent water nymphs waltzing on the water’s surface, leaving rippling patterns in their wake.
The one beside it was a darker pencil drawing of an irritable-looking ogre in his lair. The detailing of his scaly skin, his tattered clothing, the annoyance in his eyes—sheer magic.
She turned back to Killian, stunned. “How did you find this place?”
Killian shrugged, a smug little quirk to his lips. “I just happened upon it during one of my research trips.”
In truth, he really didn’t know how he’d found the tiny gallery himself. He’d been walking, his mind totally consumed with Poppy. And his dream. And what he’d said to Poppy in his dream.
Yet something had drawn him out of those thoughts, just in time to notice this particular townhouse and that particular, almost unreadable sign on the door.
He found himself climbing the steps to inspect the sign closer. When he’d been able to read the name, and realized it was a gallery, he’d immediately thought of Poppy’s artwork. Even before he’d peeked through the window. Even before he saw it was indeed a gallery of fantasy and fairy-tale artwork.
But as soon as he’d peeked inside, he knew he had to bring Poppy here.
In fact, this place had triggered the idea of an affair too. He supposed whimsical fairy-tale images were an odd segue into that train of thought, but seeing the art got him thinking about Poppy getting her confidence back. About her artwork and herself.
He started to think that was why he was really here. And why he was so attracted to her. He was meant to have a fling with this woman. He was meant to give her back her groove.
He should be doubting that. He should be worrying about getting Daisy’s wish granted, getting out of here and keeping Poppy safe. That was what a wise demon would do, but he wasn’t. Again, it was as if he couldn’t. He had to carry out this wish in a certain way—and that way required his staying here.
Now, watching her smile with amazement and admiration at the painting in front of her, he felt certain he was doing the right thing.
“These pieces are amazing. I love them.” She beamed at him, flashing that dimple that for some reason he found to be both so adorable and so sexy.
She meandered to another painting, mesmerized by the details. Then she looked at him again, and though her lips were still curved into a smile, he sensed hesitance in her dark eyes.
“This—this is like the kind of artwork I used to do.”
“I know.”
She gave him a querying look. “I know I told you I wanted to illustrate children’s books, but I didn’t think I told you my work was like this.”
“No, that’s true. You didn’t.” He paused, wondering if she’d be annoyed by the fact he’d seen her work. Then he decided lying wasn’t an option—not when he couldn’t tell the truth about so many other things. Besides, he wanted her to realize her work was amazing.
“I accidentally saw it that day when I brought you your copy edits so you could work on the couch. I’d been looking for a book you could use as a makeshift desk, and pulled down one of your sketchbooks.”
Poppy nodded, but he couldn’t really read her reaction. Did she consider that a breach of privacy? Was she upset?
“I was so impressed,” he said. “You are very talented. As talented as these artists, if not more so.”
Poppy looked back at the painting in front of her, an oil of a fairy town built on the limbs of a giant oak. Lightning bugs served as streetlights. Leaves and acorns were fashioned into houses. Fairies flitted here and there.
“Do you really think so?” She didn’t look in his direction as she asked.
“I do. You are amazing.”
She looked at him then, hope glittering in her eyes. She really didn’t quite believe him, but she wanted to. He could see that.
He reached for her hands then, pulling her to face him.
“You have no idea how amazing you are.” He kissed her then, a sweet, soft kiss, maybe a little worshipful too.
“In every way,” he murmured as they parted.
Her cheeks colored like pink glaze on white porcelain, but he wasn’t sure if the blush was because of his words or his actions. Either way, she’d see how wonderful she was. He’d be sure of that.
After the kiss, they wandered around the gallery, hand in hand, stopping to admire and to discuss. Poppy seemed to favor colored-pencil drawings. She liked lots of detail and color. Killian did too.
Once Poppy had looked her fill, he suggested they go eat.
Poppy seemed almost relieved at that idea, and Killian didn’t think it was because she was starving.
“Are you nervous about what might happen later?” he asked with a naughty grin.
“Maybe.” She cast him an apprehensive look.
He stopped walking down the sidewalk, drawing her to a halt too.
“There’s no pressure here,” he told her. Although he wouldn’t lie to himself that he was hopeful there was going to be a “later.”
He kissed her, keeping this one brief, so as not to shatter her nerves completely.
“Thank you,” she said with a small, still unsure smile. But he did notice her gaze returned to his lips, and he chose to see that as a good sign.
But instead of kissing her again, which was what he wanted to do, he started walking again.
“Sushi, here we come.”
Poppy glanced at him, this time her expression a different kind of uncertain. “Sushi? Really?”
C
HAPTER
31
“I
t’s really not bad,” Poppy said.
Killian laughed. “Not exactly rave reviews.”
“I do like it,” she insisted. “At least what I managed to get to my mouth.” She wagged her chopsticks at him. She’d not been terribly successful with her utensils. Of course, the two glasses of plum wine might not have helped.
“You did great,” he assured her.
She knew he was lying, but she appreciated his attempt to allay her embarrassment.
“And I do love the décor,” she said, settling back against the cushions to take in the lovely rice-paper partitions and ornately carved woodwork. They sat in their own private booth, which had also made her ineptness with her chopsticks a little less harrowing.
“I love the décor too,” he said, and she knew he wasn’t referring to the restaurant at all. Her cheeks burned, even as her heart skipped at his compliment.
“I really like the privacy—so I can do this,” he murmured as he leaned in to steal a kiss. She leaned in too, loving how he felt and tasted. The embrace intensified, their passion exploding as easily as gasoline ignited by a mere spark.
But she broke the kiss before it could get too passionate, too out of control.
“Shy?” He gave her a teasing smile.
“A little.”
He glanced at her mouth longingly, but then he took a sip of his sake.
“I still cannot believe you speak such fluent Japanese,” Poppy said suddenly, trying to get her lust-and plum-wine-dazed mind back onto a different topic.
“You shouldn’t be so impressed—I can only speak a little.”
“It’s still amazing. Do you speak other languages? You know, besides Swedish.”
He nodded. “I have a basic knowledge of several languages: French, Russian, some Italian and Spanish. A little Portuguese too. Even some Hungarian.”
He stroked her leg under the table, his fingers toying with the hem of her skirt. She caught his wandering hand, trying to keep her thoughts appropriate for a restaurant.
He grinned, but kept his hand still under hers.
“And Swedish.”
His smiled faded just a bit. “And Swedish, of course.”
“How did you learn them all?”
“For my work,” he said.
“So you’ve traveled all over the world to do your paranormal investigations?” She supposed that made sense. There were ghosts and spooky stories everywhere.
He nodded. “Yes.”
With his free hand, he reached for his sake, taking a deep sip.
Poppy took a sip of her drink too. The wine was sweet and a little syrupy, but she liked the plum flavor.
“All the traveling must have toned down your Swedish accent,” she realized. “In fact, you really have none.”
He turned to her then and said, “Om lopp JAG icke gör det har en Svensk accent. Jag er en demonen, inte en smula Svensk.”
“That’s the first time I’ve heard you speak Swedish.” Poppy’s dark eyes glittered, clearly excited to hear Killian speak in his “native” language. “What did you say?”
What did he say? That no, he didn’t have a Swedish accent, because he was a demon, not a Swede. But Killian couldn’t tell her, by Daisy’s orders, except in a language Poppy couldn’t understand. Still the incomprehensible admission felt good somehow.
Instead he said, “I just said ‘I don’t speak Swedish much these days, so I have lost my accent.’”
She nodded, taking another sip of her wine.
“I recognize the words
Swedish
and
accent.”
He smiled. Great, was he going to spend the night teaching her Swedish? Which he could do. Demons could speak all languages. But those weren’t really the type of lessons he was hoping for tonight.
“I also heard something that sounded like
demon.”
He paused, his drink halfway to his mouth, his lustful thoughts evaporating. Damn it, he shouldn’t have said that.
“Um, yeah, that is the Swedish word for—for paranormal. I actually said, ‘Since becoming a paranormal investigator, I don’t speak Swedish much anymore.’”
She nodded, willingly accepting his explanation. Then she laughed. “That’s kind of strange, isn’t it? I mean since your paranormal expertise is in demonology.”
He smiled, the gesture strained. “Yes, isn’t that strange?”
Poppy sipped her wine again, but then pushed it away. “That’s good but very sweet.”
Killian was relieved at the change of topic. “Perhaps you’d like some tea.”
She nodded, smiling at him again, that lovely dimple peeking out at him.
“I should keep my wits about me; it would seem you could seduce me in several languages.”
“Äsch, JAG ja hoppas så.”
She smiled, but eyed his naughty grin suspiciously. “What did you say now?”
He leaned in until his lips just barely brushed against hers, then murmured, “I certainly hope so.”
He kissed her, this time until they were both senseless with desire.
When the waitress returned, they barely managed to end the kiss. But Killian did have the wits to pull away, knowing Poppy wasn’t totally comfortable with their public displays of affection … or rather lust.
Killian asked the waitress for the check, and when he turned back to Poppy, true to form, her cheeks blazed bright red.
“I think I should go to the restroom before we leave,” she said, clearly trying to gather herself.
He smiled, loving her sweet shyness just as much as her wanton abandon.
She slid out of the booth and headed toward the back of the restaurant. Killian glanced around for the waitress. He wanted to pay and get Poppy home. His cock pulsed against the denim of his jeans, clearly in total agreement.
Poppy stepped into the restroom, glad for the coolness of the large, tiled room. She hadn’t really needed to use the bathroom, but she needed a moment to collect herself. At this rate, Killian would have her naked on the subway on the way home.
She braced herself on the sink, trying to get her raging libido under control. After a moment, she reached for a paper towel and dampened it and pressed the square over her heated cheeks and neck.
Behind her, she heard the door open. A tall woman with dark hair entered, joining her at the sink rather than going to the stalls.
She rifled through a satchel purse, finally retrieving a silver tube of lipstick. She leaned over the sink, getting closer to the mirror to apply the makeup. Then she stopped, seeming to notice Poppy for the first time.
She lowered the lipstick and smiled at Poppy from the mirror.
“I hope you don’t mind my saying this,” she said, her voice oddly husky, “but aren’t you the lucky lady?”
Poppy smiled, but knew she couldn’t keep the confusion off her face.
“Your man,” the woman said. “He’s something else.”
Poppy started to say Killian wasn’t her man, but caught herself. Why not let this woman think he was hers? He was for now anyway.
“He is pretty amazing,” Poppy admitted.
“Too good to be true.”
Poppy couldn’t deny that. She nodded, turning to toss the wet paper towel in the trash. When she turned back, the woman was still watching her, but this time there was a very strange look on her face.