Page 7 of Hidden By the Gargoyle

The main lodge and cottages weren’t visible when we stopped in front of a two-story cabin at the very rear of the property.

“Don’t get out of the car until I come around and walk you inside,” Dax commanded when he turned off the SUV.

I didn’t argue, just waited patiently while he got out of the vehicle and came around the hood. His eyes scanned the trees around the cabin, looking for any sign of evil warlocks or rogue lioness shifters.

When he opened the passenger door, I slid out, my purse over my shoulder. Immediately, he hooked an arm around my shoulders, tucking my body against his.

At first, I was so shocked by the action that my feet didn’t want to move, until he started dragging me along to the cabin. I realized then that he was using his own body to protect me, something that made my stomach twist painfully.

I didn’t like the idea of Dax being hurt because of me, so I hurried my steps to match his long, ground-eating strides.

I also tried to ignore the way his arm felt around my shoulder and his hard body felt against mine. And how small and feminine I felt next to him.

It was too much, a complete information overload. I couldn’t process the sensations evoked by being this close to him. Especially since this was the most he’d touched me in nearly a decade.

We entered the house together, me slightly in front of Dax. He released my shoulders, urging me deeper into the house.

“Stay here and I’ll go grab your things from the car. Don’t come to the door or look out the windows.”

I didn’t have time to agree or disagree because he turned on his heel and strode out the door, his heavy footsteps echoing on the wooden porch.

He returned a few moments later with my duffel and my laptop backpack. I hadn’t even taken the time to look around the living area because I was worried that something would happen to him.

“Let me give you the tour,” he said, setting my stuff on the floor next to the front door.

I glanced behind me. The entire bottom floor was open, with only a couple of rustic support beams beneath the loft area. The living area was on the right and to the left was a desk directly in front of the window and bookshelves along the far wall. A small kitchen was set in the back left corner with a tall bar separating it from the rest of the space. Two stools sat in front of the bar, taller than any I’d seen before. I would probably have to jump up just to make it into the seat. A round, four-top table was to the back of the space between the kitchen and a door that seemed to lead to the only separate room on the first floor.

“Everything is open down here, except for the pantry, half bath, and laundry room through the door next to the dining table.”

At his description, I immediately imagined a large room with a toilet and sink in one corner, a washer and dryer in the other, and shelves full of canned and dry goods along the walls.

I followed Dax to the area in question and breathed a sigh of relief when I realized that the laundry and pantry were in one general area to the left, but the half bath was closed off by a pocket door.

“The bedroom is upstairs. Let me grab your bag. You can hang up your clothes and put your other stuff away if you want. There’s plenty of space in the closet.”

My relief over the sight of a private half bath distracted me from his words or I would have realized that he saidthe bedroom, as in singular.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I followed him out of the pantry-slash-laundry and took a longer moment to look around while he gathered up my bag.

His house was extremely tidy and uncluttered. Other than the bookshelves near the desk area, there was nothing on the walls. No art. No sconces. No posters. Nothing but white paint and dark wood trim.

Every surface was cleared and shiny from furniture polish. I could still smell the faint lemon scent in the air. There were no photos or personal touches anywhere. Not even a stray sock or cup.

It was as if no one lived here.

Even the resort cabins had more personality than his home. I’d been inside one a couple of years ago, so I knew from firsthand experience.

I followed him up the stairs and froze when I reached the top.

The entire loft was open except for two doors against the far wall. And the only thing in the loft was two nightstands and an enormous bed. A bed big enough for two men the size of Dax. Or at least one fully shifted gargoyle, including his wings. I tried to imagine Dax in full gargoyle form, lying on the mattress, but the image wouldn’t come.

It hit me then what he’d said.The bedroom. There was only one bedroom. And one bed. I’d never slept in bed with a man before. I eyed the gigantic mattress and decided that it was so big that I wouldn’t even know if he was there.

Still, the idea of sharing a bed with Dax set off a swarm of butterflies in my stomach.

I was an adult. He was an adult. We could handle sleeping in the same bed. Right? I didn’t have to make it a big deal. And I wouldn’t. Decision made. No problem here.

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