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?
CHAPTER 12
The 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.”
