But she didn’t wait for his answer. She turned, her heel catching on an uneven floorboard as she did. She wobbled, but righted herself and managed to flee the bar. And the man who clearly thought her life was a joke.
CHAPTER 22
Killian dashed out onto the sidewalk, making a frantic search in both directions. He saw there was no slight woman with glossy brown hair, teetering away as quickly as her high-heeled boots would allow.
“Shit.”
He’d tried to make a quick exit, throwing a couple twenties on the bar, more than enough to settle up the tab. He’d been rushing toward the door, when the bartender called him back. Poppy had left without her jacket and purse.
Then at the door, the rude brunette, who must have witnessed Poppy’s abrupt departure, cut him off. He’d gotten rid of her,
He swore again, both at the hindrances that had slowed him down and because he couldn’t see Poppy. He didn’t think she could have gotten very far. Between the wine and the boots, her progress would have to be pretty slow. He’d be lucky if he didn’t find her sprawled on the concrete with a broken ankle.
That image spurring him on, he strode down the sidewalk toward the apartment building. Surely she wasn’t so tipsy she’d taken off in the wrong direction.
One block later, he found her. She sat on the steps of a row house, one boot already off as she tugged at the other one.
At least she was clearheaded enough to realize her ability to negotiate these sidewalks was not good. Of course, walking in stocking feet wasn’t a great plan either.
“Put your boot back on,” he said softly. “I’ll help you.”
Poppy glared up at him, and he could see tears glistening in her dark eyes. Smudges of mascara darkened her cheeks.
“Oh, I think you’ve helped enough, thank you very much.”
His chest tightened. Jerk. That’s what he was.
He looked around, not sure how to handle this. Was he used to crying? In his line of work? Of course. But he had his mind control to handle that. And the ones crying, well, they didn’t deserve comfort. Neither of those things applied here.
Poppy deserved comfort. She deserved the right words. He knew she’d never gotten them in the past when she’d so desperately needed them. And unfortunately now, she was stuck with him.
He sat down on the step beside her, even though from her stiffening posture he could tell she didn’t want him there. And certainly not this close.
As if to punctuate that thought, she shifted away from him and began pulling at her boot again.
He placed a hand on top of hers, his larger one completely covering her tiny one.
“Please stop. Please,” he said, an almost desperate quality to his voice, only because he didn’t quite know what else to do.
Apparently that worked, because her hand stilled. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away. He liked the softness of her skin. Too much.
He knotted his own fingers together, his elbows resting on his thighs.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, not sure where he was going with this, but deciding that following his gut was the best strategy.
“Why did you say we would go?”
He could see her staring at him from the corner of his eye, but coward that he was, he didn’t look back. Her teary eyes ate at him.
But her question was a good one. And deserved a good answer.
He decided just to state the facts as he saw them. He had no doubt they would be the wrong facts. After all, what did he know or understand about these kinds of emotions? But here he went, right or wrong.
“I know this Adam guy hurt you. But this is how I see it—” He pulled in a breath, preparing for her to stomp away before he could get half the explanation out.
“He was a selfish jerk,” he said, “who left because things got too difficult. For him. Instead of thinking about the struggle and sacrifice you were going through, losing your parents, taking care of your sister, giving up school, he just thought about how the change affected him.”
He paused, waiting. But Poppy remained seated. Totally motionless, in fact. He glanced at her. She stared at the boot in her hand, and he wondered if she was even listening to him. Maybe she was just thinking of ways to injure him with the three-inch heel.
At the risk of said heel to the face, he kept going. “He should have stood by you. Helped you. He should have been there to ease your pain, not add to it. Clearly, he still causes you pain, and I just can’t see letting him hurt you any longer. No man is worth that. Especially one who’d walk away when you needed him.”
Again he waited, prepared for her to go, or yell, or …
She released a shuddering breath, then sniffed.
Oh, damn. More tears. He’d do better with yelling.
“So how’s seeing him going help stop the pain?”
Her voice was low, barely above a whisper, so he had to lean closer to hear her. Their shoulders brushed, and a jolt of longing shot through him like a violent zap of static. How could he want her, even now when things were so far from sexual between them?
But he forced himself to focus on her question. It had merit. A lot of merit. And he did have an answer for it.
“Because you will walk in there, head high, and show him you’re fine. That you don’t need him. Letting him know you’ve moved on could be the best catharsis.”
She didn’t speak for a moment.
“But I haven’t moved on.”
Killian supposed in her mind she hadn’t. She was still raising her sister. She was still working at a job she didn’t love instead of working on her art. She was still alone. But he saw her as someone who showed the world she was strong and could handle anything. She was clearly tougher than this idiot Adam.
“You have. You’ve kept your family together. You’ve been one tough cookie.” She looked at him then, and he gave her an encouraging smile. “But we can make the moving on seem bigger.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Well …”
Why was he offering to do this? Because this guy deserved to see that someone else got the amazing woman he gave up.
“You won’t be there alone,” he said, then made a show of straightening his collar and making himself presentable. “You’ll be there with your fiancé.”
Poppy studied him. Was he really suggesting himself? Her heart skipped a few beats at the idea. Why? What he was offering was just another charade.
“Just like the kiss.”
Killian frowned. “What?”
She shook her head, which only made her thoughts more confusing and the sidewalk spin. She touched a hand to her temple. Wooziness filled her head like fog, clouding her thoughts, making it hard to think straight.
“Are you okay?” Killian asked, placing a hand on her back.
She shook her head. “Too much wine.”
“Okay,” he said, taking the boot she still held from her limp fingers. “Let’s get you home.”
He lifted her foot onto his knee, and the sudden shift made her topple back against the steps’ railing with a soft grunt. She lay there, eyes closed, willing away the vertigo that only seemed to be getting worse.
“Are you okay?”
