Page 25

“That,” she said with a laugh, “is a lesson not even I can teach. Just remember that you are not the only creature with the ability to hide, or even to lie.”

He took that in, then nodded. “Thank you, Ofelia. Your bountiful wisdom has aided me greatly.”

“Flatterer. Save your honey words for your flower.”

“And yet you sound pleased. Is this subtext?”

“Ah, he can be taught.” Ofelia’s voice grew stern again. “Now go. I have better things to do this night than chatter with a stray cat. ”

“Farewell.” He disconnected, thinking. It was late, and he could already feel the energies he’d absorbed from the storm leaching away.

While part of him wished to immediately go forth and purchase some condoms that he might practice his condom skills, he was reminded that he was meeting Poppy early, and for their date to go well, he would need to be as thoroughly hydrated as possible.

So instead, he went into the cramped bathroom and turned on the faucet to fill the stained porcelain tub.

It was small, and the water from the tap was not as pleasant as fresh rainwater, but it was still water.

Ofelia had warned him that his phone was too delicate to easily infuse with his lightning essence, so he plugged it in to charge, then propped the drawing of Poppy where he could see it from the tub.

It was strange. He had a photo now on his phone, yet the drawing still attracted him in a deeper way, as if it held part of Poppy’s soul.

Perhaps it did. He was not an artisan, but he had seen how a craft reflected the craftsman, no two hands creating the exact same result.

When all was properly arranged, Rai shed his clothes, then his glamour, and brought out his wings before stepping into the tub.

Ah, he was far too dry—the water felt glorious, and he could feel his body absorbing it almost as fast as it flowed.

Once he felt he had reached an equilibrium, he turned off the tap, stretched out and draped himself over the edge of the tub so his wings were not constricted, and gazed upon the drawing of Poppy.

He had learned so much about her today, and yet he sensed there was so much more to her, subtext that he needed to comprehend.

And that was strange. He had felt desire before, had quenched his desire with many a willing partner, but never had he felt this need for knowledge, for understanding, even for attention.

He had led a life of ease and whimsy, and yet Poppy, with her pain and her strength and her dogged care for her mother, made him wish he were something more, even just the toilet paper salesman he pretended to be. She made him long to have a purpose.

As he drifted into sleep, he wondered vaguely what that purpose might be.

He was placed on this earth specifically to make me blush , Poppy thought, staring across the table at Rai, who had managed to not leave her head once since she’d dropped him off at his hotel the night before .

She’d been doing okay, taking a few minutes to journal and process her massive overreaction to what had been, she had to admit, an amazing first go at sexytimes.

It wasn’t surprising that a few ghosts had popped up, but a little distance had helped her to realize that a, Rai was not Brendan and had just gone with the flow, same as she had, b, Rai really knew his way around her ladyparts, and c, she should get the fuck over herself, because she needed a hell of a lot more of what he’d been offering.

But she’d gotten through the regrets-and-recriminations part and been ready to settle in to read a bit of a relaxing, non-romance-related bedtime book when that text had come.

Holy fuck , that text.

She had stared at it and stared at it, not sure how to respond, aware that her face had gone up in flames.

If it had come from anyone else in the universe, she might have thought it a joke, but every word of it, from the precious and glorious Poppy to the closing I remain yours , had sounded so clearly in his voice, that inexplicable mix of sensual knowledge and wide-eyed innocence wrapped in oddly formal cadence and word choice, that she could only take it seriously, even the bit about mastering the use of the condom.

What was there to master? You rolled it on.

Except now Poppy was envisioning Rai, his face all intense focus, deploying his cock like a battleship and making the donning of the condom a ceremony worthy of applause.

Possibly with “Eye of the Tiger” as the soundtrack.

Or even better, an epic orchestral score like Lord of the Rings , horns and violins soaring as he turned to her and—

Well, suffice it to say that she’d been thinking about it long after she’d finally mustered the courage to reply with a deeply anticlimactic Thank you.

3 Can’t wait to see you tomorrow! Had in fact fallen asleep repeating the text and their moonlit embrace in her head and awakened with a bare moment’s peace before she’d remembered and been red-cheeked all over again.

And that was not even taking into account the steamy dreams she’d had, which had taken their interlude on the trunk of her car to new heights that would have gotten them arrested if a police car had happened by.

Poppy's waking imagination was naughty, but her subconscious was downright filthy.

Also, she was pretty sure Rai did not have fuzzy handcuffs in his back pocket.

Mostly because she'd checked, and all she'd found was a delicious ass in a pair of jeans that were so tight they weren't just illegal, they probably violated an obscure clause of the Geneva Conventions .

So by the time Rai had greeted her with his brilliant smile and naked happiness to see her again, she'd been primed with a whole day's worth of blushes, which he'd then compounded by being so damn earnest her teeth were going to rot away. Earnest and sly at the same time, which was a trick indeed.

“I wish to kiss you,” he’d said before she had even reached him. “But not deviously.”

“Probably a good idea,” she’d said, laughing, and then she’d reached him, and his lips had been on hers, just a sweet brush.

“You are very pink,” he’d said smugly. He’d worn a different Hawaiian shirt today, one with golden Chinese dragons and swirly blue clouds and orange carp all in a surreal dance.

“From the walk.”

And then his eyes had narrowed on her. “Ah,” he’d said as if he were Sherlock Holmes ferreting out Moriarty.

“You are a liar. ” Which should have been accusatory, those words, but somehow sounded to her ears like he was entirely delighted, as if her teensy little lie had been a pony on his birthday.

“Maybe a little.”

“You lie beautifully.” His gaze had drifted to her mouth again.

She’d found herself licking her lips. “You like a femme fatale?” She wasn’t dangerous, or she never would have thought of herself as dangerous, but Rai seemed to see all sorts of things in her that she’d never considered.

“I like you ,” he’d said and given her another sweet sip of a kiss. “But you must collect your earnings.”

They’d gone inside; Heather had been busy in the back, so they had ordered their coffee and settled in the booth where only two of Poppy’s works now hung.

She’d brought a replacement in her bag, one her mother had helped her frame that morning, efficiently cutting a fresh mat.

It had been a relief, having something to distract her mother from the inevitable apologies, something besides reassuring her that Rai had not been offended and their evening had not been ruined.

Which had not, for once, been a lie, thank fuck.

“You are well?” Rai was looking at her curiously, and Poppy realized she had been fidgeting.

“Perfect. I just…” She let out a nervous sigh. “I’m wondering if it was just a fluke. You know? The one good piece of art I had in me. And now these are going to hang here forever.” She gestured at the botanicals on the wall.

“I am sure it is no…fluke,” Rai said, though his gaze slid to her drawings, brow knit.

“Thanks. ”

“Do you draw whales?”

“What?”

“The picture you sold, it was of you. And these here are of desert plants. There are no flukes, no—” He made a waving motion with his hand, like an orca flipping its tail.

“Oh! No. Not that kind of fluke. I meant… You know, like a one-time surprise event, never to happen again.”

“Ah.”

Was that disappointment on his face? “Do you…want me to draw a whale? I mean, I mostly try to do things that might be marketable here, but I could do a…a commission.” She tried not to feel like a moocher for suggesting it, but dammit, she’d draw a whale for more grocery money.

She’d managed to claim a number of transcript jobs that morning, which was a relief even if they were more politics, but with a commission, she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about taking a drawing break.

He tilted his head. “A commission?”

“Yeah. I mean, it could be whatever your budget is, but if you like whales, I could… I could draw it, paint it. If you let me know what you want, I could figure out a…a price.” Ugh, she felt low.

But she’d promised herself after everything that had gone down in Illinois that she wouldn’t just give pieces of herself away, not unless it was her idea from the start.

Not even if the person she wanted to give it to was sinfully gorgeous and painfully sweet.

Thankfully, he didn’t look annoyed but intrigued. He was opening his mouth to speak when Heather arrived at their table, grinning. Weirdly, Rai glared at the barista.

“Everything okay?” Poppy whispered across the table.

His eyes flickered to hers, and he wiped his glower away, or tried to. “We were conversing,” he said and gave a stiff shrug.

Heather’s smile didn’t dim. “Thanks for waiting. We had an egg situation that needed my attention.”

Poppy dug in her bag. “I brought a new piece for the wall. Do you have one of the forms?”