Page 34 of The Gargoyle and the Songbird

The lobby of the inn buzzes with anxious voices as I absorb the bombshell Mariah just dropped. A magical blizzard, trapping us all indefinitely? This is awful timing; I’m still in the throes of album promotion and I have more press starting up again tomorrow.

Not to mention my security situation…

Before I know it, I’m leaning into Graeme’s rock-solid arm. The hard mass of his muscles against my arm is a reassurance. My body lights up again with the contact, and I realize this snowstorm won’t just be a challenge for my busy pre-tour schedule.

It’ll also be a challenge being cooped up with this infuriating gargoyle who has made it very clear he doesnotwant to kiss me.

“Graeme, I think I… I need a minute.” My words tumble out in a breathy rush. I’m desperate to be away from the crowd, to have a beat with my thoughts. “Let’s go upstairs.”

We weave through the crowd toward the grand staircase. The normally soothing cinnamon and woodsmoke scents cloy in my nose. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other until we reach the sanctuary of our suite.

Once inside, I turn to my towering gargoyle bodyguard. “I need to take a shower. Alone. Can you wait out in the hallway please til I’m dressed?” I’m proud of how steady I keep my voice.

His thick brows draw together. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Ecco. With all the chaos…”

Irritation flares through me, and I cut him off. “It’s a shower, Graeme, not a black ops mission! I just need ten freaking minutes to myself to process… all this.” I wave my hand vaguely.

“Your safety is my responsibility. I can’t protect you if?—”

“Oh my god, are you planning to follow me into the bathroom? I don’t think so, buddy.” I plant my hands on my hips, glaring up at him.

We lock eyes, both refusing to back down. I’m suddenly viscerally aware of how close we’re standing, of Graeme’s hulking frame.

Images from last night, from our dance and charged moment after, flash unbidden through my mind.

My cheeks heat, and I hope he assumes it’s anger.

After a long, weighted moment, Graeme exhales harshly. “Fine. Ten minutes.” He clenches his chiseled jaw. “But I’ll be right there in the hall. Anything seems off, even a little, you shout for me. Understood?”

I nod, not trusting my voice, and dart into the bathroom before he can change his mind. The door clicks shut behind me.

A few minutes later, steam billows around me as I stand under the rainfall showerhead, the heat and pressure divine against the stress-induced tension in my back. I tip my head back, letting the water sluice over my face and down my body.

Breathing deeply, I will my racing thoughts to slow.

It’s fine. Everything is going to be fine.

So there’s a freak blizzard. So what?

I’m safe and warm. I’ve got food and shelter. There’s no proof it has anything to do with my stalker—it’s probably just poor Velda’s errant magic, like Mariah said. And I’m not alone...

Graeme’s face swims in my mind’s eye.

Graeme, who held me so securely on the dance floor last night, his hand splayed possessively across my lower back.

Graeme, whose ice-blue eyes seemed to burn right through me as we swayed, his gaze dipping to my lips again and again.

I was so sure he wanted me, too. But then the storm started, and the moment was gone, and he’s barely made eye contact with me since.

Oh god. Being cooped up with Graeme indefinitely will be torture. Especially after I was a drunken asshole last night, practically throwing myself at a man who wasclearlytrying to turn me down gently.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it does nothing to dispel the sudden fantasy of Graeme crowding me against the tile wall, water sluicing over his gray skin and gray-black wings, his large hands mapping my curves.

What would that chiseled mouth feel like on my throat, on my breasts? I shiver despite the heat.

Stop it, I scold myself.He works for you. And he doesn’t want this. You’re only torturing yourself more.

Still, I can’t ignore how my body responds to even just the fantasy of him.

---