fell again.
Killian watched Poppy busy herself with sweeping as he rose to his feet, bemused by her reaction. But more than that, he was mystified by his own reaction.
He’d had a totally visceral response to the woman’s touch. An innocuous touch at that. Just her fingers curled around his arm. Something he’d have found impersonal from most others, but from Poppy it had been completely— sensual.
Hadn’t his plan been to come down and charm her into trusting him? He was on a deadline here. But he certainly hadn’t planned on being oddly charmed by her in return.
“Can I help?” he finally managed to ask, actually dazed by her touch.
“No,” she answered, her tone and her movements both brusque. Was she shaken too? Then she glanced at him again, offering him a small, tight smile. “Just have a seat before you hit the floor again.”
He smiled back, telling himself he wasn’t noticing how cute she was in her agitation. Obediently, he took a place at the kitchen table, watching her work. She bent over to sweep the lentils into a plastic dustpan. Killian’s gaze lingered on the way her jeans tightened to cup her butt. A perfect little butt.
“Is Ginger at work?”
He blinked, not immediately following her question. When his eyes lifted, he found her looking over her shoulder at him. He wasn’t sure if she realized where his attention had been focused or not. Her expression revealed nothing.
“Umm … Ginger?” he asked. Shit, who was Ginger again?
“Oh, right, I forgot you call her Ginny.”
Ginny? Ginny? That’s right, his supposed cousin.
“Yes, she’s at work.” She could be, right?
“Well,” she said with a sigh as she dumped the legumes into a silver trash can. “I guess I have to find something else for dinner.”
She opened a cupboard, peering at shelves of canned and dried goods for several seconds.
“Do you like tacos?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said. “Does that mean I’m invited to dinner?”
“Of course,” she said, “unless Ginger—Ginny’s going to be home and she’s planned dinner for you.”
“No,” he said. There was no chance of that. “No plans here.”
She smiled, this time the gesture more natural, less strained. And even more attractive.
“So,” he asked before he thought better of it, “have you forgiven my bad behavior at lunch?”
CHAPTER 10
Poppy wasn’t surprised by the directness of Killian’s question. She’d known him less than twenty-four hours, but she already recognized that was just part of his personality. She was, however, a little startled by the almost flirty quality in his voice.
Finally, gathering her wits, she nodded. “Sure.”
Now that she better understood his reaction to the blonde in the food court, she felt her reaction was over the top. Besides, what difference did it make to her if this guy had turned out to be genuinely shallow?
“I was in a mood, I guess,” she said.
Somehow taking the blame seemed like the easiest way to apologize without saying too much.
He studied her for a moment, those amazing eyes of his roaming over her as if he was trying to read her mind. Then he simply nodded, although his gaze didn’t leave her.
She suppressed the shudder, the overwhelming sensation that zinged through her body as if electrical pulses coursed through her. Breaking their stare, she looked back to the cupboard, not wanting those feelings. After all, what could she possibly do with them?
“So, tacos?” she asked.
“If you let me help.”
She hesitated without looking at him. Working closely beside him—bad idea. But they’d formed a truce.
“Sure.”
She pulled down a yellow box containing the taco shells and spices. Then she went to the fridge and got out ground turkey as well as tomatoes and lettuce.
Killian started to rise from the table, but she stopped him. Space was key if she was going to keep her silly hormones in check.
“Stay put. You are going to be the chopper.”
She set the ground meat on the counter, then brought the veggies to him. He frowned, regarding the common produce with an almost wary expression. She smiled slightly, but she didn’t say anything as she left to grab a wooden cutting board and a knife. She placed them in front of him, waiting to see what he would do.
Almost hesitantly he reached for the lettuce. Peeling back the plastic, he just stared at it.
“Cut it in half, and then just slice it fine.”
He nodded, still regarding the vegetable like it was an alien life-form that might attack at any minute.
“Better get it before it gets you,” she said with a laugh, then headed back to the stove to prepare the meat. She could have showed him what to do, but she didn’t trust her body being that close to him.
After a minute, the knife began clacking against the cutting board, and she hoped it wasn’t the lettuce that won.
“Killian O’Brien,” she said, not looking at him as she spoke. “That doesn’t sound particularly Swedish.”
The cutting paused for just a second, then continued.
“No, it’s not. It’s Irish, actually.”
“So your father is Irish?”
Again the chopping paused.
“Yes. My father. He’s from, um, Dublin.”
Poppy reached under the counter for a frying pan, keeping herself busy as she talked. The tactic seemed to be working. Her wayward body was under control. Well, mostly.
“Where in Sweden did you grow up?” she asked.
The knife was silent again.
“Um, Stockholm.”
Poppy got the impression there was almost a question mark at the end of his response. But she figured she must have imagined it. After all, why would the man be uncertain about where he lived?
“Is it very different to live in the States?”
“It is,” he said, this time without hesitation.
“Do your parents still live there?”
“Yes.”
Poppy nodded as she plopped the turkey into the pan and reached for a mixing spoon to break it apart.
“I can imagine it would be a big adjustment. Especially since you didn’t want to leave.” She nearly groaned when she realized what she’d just said. She hadn’t meant to bring up anything about his reasons for leaving—and she definitely didn’t want to reveal she knew the reason.
He didn’t respond, and she glanced in his direction. He was turning a tomato over and over in his hand, a speculative look in his eyes. She wasn’t sure if that tentativeness was truly directed at the red veggie or if he was considering her words. Remembering what happened to make him leave.
“I’ve lived in Boston my whole life,” she said, deciding a shift in conversation might be the best thing.
She glanced at him again, and this time he was watching her.
“Did you always live in this apartment?”
She shook her head. “No, I got this place right after—Once Daisy moved in with me. I had a small apartment before that. But once Daisy came to live with me, I wanted a place that seemed more like a home.”
“How did your parents die?”
Again she shouldn’t have been surprised by Killian’s straightforwardness, but the question still gave her a
