Page 18 of The Gargoyle and the Songbird

Great. Just great.

I clear my throat and head in, unsure what else to do. “Well! This is… cozy.”

Graeme just grunts in response, moving to set his bag down. I let Minx out of her carrier and watch as she happily chases the enchanted rose petals, which have slowed slightly but are still very much falling from above.

The silence stretches between us, thick with tension and awkwardness. I open a few drawers and busy myself with unpacking, trying to ignore the way my heart races every time Graeme brushes past me.

As I’m hanging up a dress, I catch Graeme moving towards an ornate wooden chest in the corner. My eyes widen with sudden realization.

“Stop!” I yelp, whirling around. “Not that chest!”

But it’s too late. Graeme has already flipped open the lid, revealing the chest’s contents. An exotic array of sex toys is artfully displayed, including a massive jar of shimmering magical lube, handcuffs, nipple clamps, and condoms in every color of the rainbow.

My face flames with embarrassment as Graeme and I exchange a mortified look. He slams the chest shut with a resounding thud, the tips of his pointed ears burning crimson.

I didn’t even know his skin could get that color. I blush even more at where that thought takes me.

“Not that chest,” he agrees gruffly, hastily moving to the other side of the room.

I want to dissolve into giggles.

Or maybe scream. This cannot be happening.

I calm my breath, trying to center myself. Minx chooses that moment to jump up on the massive bed, mewing curiously.

“Don’t you dare,” I whisper to her, my eyes flicking to the mated pair of lovebirds cooing in the eaves above the bed.

The bed. Oh gods, the bed. I’d forgotten about its… special features.

My cheeks burn hotter as I recall the way it would start vibrating whenever it sensed arousal. Mariah and I used to dare each other to lay on it, dissolving into shrieks of scandalized laughter if the spell was ever triggered.

Now, the thought of that bed reading my body’s reactions, with Graeme mere feet away...

I shake my head firmly, banishing the mental image. I will not think about Graeme and beds and vibrating all in the same context. Nope.

Professional, Waverly. You’re a professional.

Graeme coughs a little, the sound unnaturally loud in the charged quiet. “I’ll take the floor, like I said,” he says, already reaching for a spare pillow.

I paste on a bright smile, trying to ignore the fluttering in my stomach at the thought of him stretched out beside the bed. “Are you sure? The bed is huge, I’m sure we could easily share it.”

What the fuck is wrong with me?!

The look he shoots me is inscrutable. I catch him glancing at the pleasure chest and we both flush again, embarrassment prickling under my skin.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he tells me tersely, grabbing his bag and heading into the bathroom.

I let out a breath, my shoulders slumping.

I should be relieved he’s keeping his distance. This is already awkward enough.

Still, I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have all that solid muscle and rough-hewn stone pressed against me...

I’m jolted out of my entirely inappropriate thoughts by the bathroom door opening. Graeme emerges, clad in only a pair of low-slung sweatpants.

Oh. Oh wow.

I try hard not to stare at the hard planes of his bare chest, the moonlight playing over the gray tones of his skin. I can see his wings for only the second time, huge and dark and unfurling powerfully behind him. They’re gorgeous and intimidating.

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