Page 53 of The Gargoyle and the Songbird

ECCO

My eyes flutter open, the hazy remnants of sleep dissipating as our room at the Moonflower Inn comes into focus. The sheets are rumpled and twisted around me.

My entire body flushes with warmth as vivid memories of last night flood my mind: the electric touch of Graeme’s hands on my skin, the insistent press of his lips against mine, the way we finally surrendered to the red-hot desire that had been building between us for so long.

But as awareness seeps in, I realize the space on the bed beside me is empty. Graeme is gone.

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Was it just a momentary lapse in his iron-clad control? A onetime thing he already regrets in the harsh light of day?

The thought stings more than I care to admit.

Because it’s time for me to accept the truth: Graeme is not just a fling to me, as much as I’d like to guard my heart by believing that. Over the past couple of weeks, my perspective of him has changed entirely.

He’s not a cold alpha asshole; he’s a careful protector who wants to keep me safe, even if that means disagreeing with me.He’s not a heartless, stoic monster; he believes passionately in duty and responsibility. He’s not trying to drive me absolutely insane; he is balancing out a part of my personality that even I can admit is sometimes reckless.

Fuck. I press my face into the cool pillow, taking a steadying breath.

I’m not just attracted to Graeme.

Ilikehim.

I roll over, hugging the sheets to me—and there he is.

Graeme is sitting in one of the plush armchairs by the eternally crackling fireplace, watching me intently.

The orange flames cast flickering shadows across his sculpted features, accentuating the strong lines of his jaw and brow. His pale blue eyes seem to glow from within as they roam over my face, drinking in every detail like he’s trying to burn this moment into his memory.

My heart skips and stutters, uncertainty rising.

I swallow hard and sit up, pulling the sheets tighter around myself and meeting Graeme’s gaze.

“Do you… regret what happened with us?” I ask.

The words come out small and fragile. I brace myself for his response, for the disappointment I’m sure is coming—the same disappointment that comes every time I start to fall for someone.

Graeme’s eyes flash with intensity, his expression shifting to one of surprise and then something deeper, something fierce.

In an instant, he’s crossed the room and is kneeling beside the bed, his large hand reaching out to cup my cheek with a gentleness that catches me off guard. The rough skin of his thumb caresses my cheekbone, and I lean into his hand despite myself.

“Absolutely not,” he says, his voice raw with emotion. “Last night was… everything, Ecco. Everything I never knew I needed.”

I feel exactly the same way.

His words envelop me like a soothing balm, melting away the knots of anxiety in my muscles. My eyes flutter closed as I savor the solid weight of his hand, the comforting scent of stone and rain that always seems to cling to his skin.

He brings his other hand up to knot in my hair, and something in me catches fire. I reach out and eagerly tug him closer, pulling him down onto the mattress and then clambering on top of him.

I pause to drink in the sight—his large, muscular chest and shoulders, his wings spread wide and starting to curl around me in a protective embrace.

I smile as he starts to respond to my touch. My body ignites as he presses up against me, his arousal clear beneath his clothes.

Just as Graeme’s hands start to slip under the hem of my nightgown, a sharp knock at the door shatters the intimate moment.

We both tense, and I can tell Graeme’s senses are instantly on high alert. In a flash, he’s on his feet, wings flaring out as he positions himself between me and whoever is at the door. His body is a wall of chiseled granite, every inch radiating a fierce protectiveness that makes my pulse race.

I scramble out of bed, hastily pulling on a robe as I move toward the door.

“Pretty sure the stalker wouldn’t knock first,” I say as I push past Graeme, giggling as his expression turns rueful while I open the door.

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