The Devil’s Keepsake by Somme Sketcher
Lorcan
Poppy must have heard me enter the code to the museum this time because she’s waiting at the top of the stairs to greet me with a grin. “I was beginning to think you were a vampire.”
“How so?” I grunt, taking the stairs two at a time, suddenly desperate to close the gap between us.
“Because I can’t remember the last time I saw you in the daylight.”
A chuckle gets stuck in my throat, and I favor pushing my lips to the top of her head and breathing in her warm scent over coming back with a sarcastic retort.
When I have my hit of Eau de Poppy, I look over her head into the workroom. There are mirrors and grandfather clocks and vases neatly piled into the corner, looking as new and bright as the day they were made. “Jesus, China Doll. You work too much. I’m going to have to start breaking more things to give you something to do.”
She picks at the dried paint on her denim overalls and raises an eyebrow. “Work too much? I could say the same about you. Whatever work is for you at the moment, anyway.”
Ignoring her last remark, I glance at my watch. “Speaking of work, I can’t stay.” There’s no denying the disappointment in her eyes. I know she was hoping for a repeat last time, when I fucked her over her workstation. “I gotta catch some sleep, then I’m back in the office.”
She cocks her head to the side and bites her bottom lip. “Okay.”
I lift her chin up, sensing there are a few more words she wants to let out of that pretty, plump mouth. “Say it.”
My cock tingles as she challenges me with a stare. “You could sleep in my bed.”
The deep, rumbling sound in my chest is a whole different devil trying to get out. “But that wouldn’t result in much sleeping, would it?”
“I guess not.”
The disappointment radiates off her. I tug at her wrist, closing the foot or so between us. “Come here,” I growl, cupping my hands around her cheeks and lifting her lips to mine. I kiss her slowly, passionately, releasing all of the tension built up in my chest over the last twenty-four hours. Only when she presses her hips against mine, creating irresistible friction, do I pull away. “I didn’t come here so you can make me rock hard.”
“Oh?” She says, feigning innocence. “I thought it was a given?”
“It is. But today my boner comes with a message. I’m taking you to dinner on Saturday night. At Gatsby’s.”
Her grin is hypnotic. “Really? And it’ll be open?”
“Sorry to piss on your parade, but I should warn you that it’s a business dinner. There’ll be potential… business partners there, and I’ll need you on my arm to impress them.”
She clenches her jaw and lowers her gaze. “Right.”
A smirk tugs at my lips, and I search her expression with fascination. “You were hoping for a date.” It’s not a question.
“No,” she retorts, but the rush of blood to her cheeks betrays her sharp tone.
I cup her jaw, running my thumb over her satin-like skin. “Poppy, do you want to go on a date with me?”
She huffs, flustered. “No, I—”
“I won’t ask you again.”
Through her thick eyelashes, she says, “It’d be nice.”
“Then I’ll take you on a date,” I reply with a smirk. “Once this is all over. Okay?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know what ‘this’ is, and when it’ll be over, but okay.”
I pull her in for one last, lingering kiss, getting my fill, before stalking back down the stairs and out of the Museum.
As I cross the gardens to the manor, my liquor cabinet calling my name through the open window of my study, I can’t deny the pang of guilt that stabs somewhere between my lungs and rib cage.
Poppy Murphy is the perfect arm candy for this meeting. Not just because I want to show off my prized keepsake, but because it’s a sign of power.
The Mexicans and the Italians, they’ll know exactly who Marcus Murphy is and what he did.
And when they see his daughter on my arm, there won’t be a doubt in their mind that the Quinn family always rises to the top.