Tempted by the Gargoyle (a gargoyle shifter romance): Boston Stone Sentries

by Lisa Carlisle

  A quick replay of the night flashed before her. No, she didn’t think so.

  “We’re floating in a dome. Everything about this is weird.” She glanced around at the others, some of whom had teamed up in couples. Janie had found someone and was headed for the exit, as were many others. “Looks like our time is up anyway.”

  He took her hand and led her down toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

  Her eyes shot down to where their hands were connected, as if he’d seared her with his touch. Holding hands was far too intimate for someone she’d just met. Sure, she’d asked him to go home with her, but hand-holding meant something—like a deeper connection. Janie had once scoffed at Larissa’s notion, saying she was too closed off, but Larissa still thought it was a gesture for long-term lovers, like couples who had been together for years. Where she’d gotten that idea was a mystery. Could have been from her ex. She’d certainly added many new defensive layers after their troubled on-and-off relationship.

  The usual her would slide her hand out of his grip. As she began to do so, she stopped. Roman glanced at her and smiled. He must have realized what she’d been about to do. Flying down to the exit of the dome with him was an exhilarating experience, one she’d never had with anyone before. Why ruin the fun because of her hang-ups?

  Time to forget all of those, at least for one night. Tonight she’d be a vixen, a temptress, and fall under the spell of the night. To make that happen, she had to make sure Roman was on board.

  “Does that mean you’re coming with me?” She gave him a speculative glance.

  “Of course,” he replied with a wry grin. “I’m a guy. Right?”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but snapped it shut. She’d gotten what she wanted, so why ruin it with sarcasm? They landed and removed their vests and exited the dome.

  Gulping a breath of warm summer air, she hadn’t realized how stuffy it had been inside. Must have been a combination of heated bodies and raging hormones.

  “Let me check in with Janie before we go.”

  She headed over to Janie, who appeared to be moments from making out with the sandy-haired guy she’d met in the dome.

  “Janie,” she interrupted.

  Janie tore her lust-filled gaze from her partner. “Hey, Larissa. That was awesome, right?” She gestured toward the man beside her. “This is Rocco.”

  Larissa nodded at Rocco and returned her attention to Janie. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. You?” Janie glanced around. “Where’s that guy you were flying with?”

  “He’s waiting for me.”

  Janie grinned like the devil. “Good for you.” She stepped away from Rocco and whispered, “You can have the hotel room. We’re going out for last call.”

  Larissa gave Rocco the once-over. Nothing stood out to make her suspicions rise. Reasonably assured he wasn’t a threat at that moment, she told Janie, “Text me from wherever you go so I know where you are.”

  Janie rolled her eyes and then smiled. “Okay, Mom.”

  “Be careful,” Larissa said before she turned away.

  Janie laughed. “Ha! I was about to say the same thing to you.”

  * * * * *

  After she’d said goodbye to her friend, Larissa led Roman out of the Common. The draw of the lunar event meant many were still out on Boylston Street, heading in and out of clubs or restaurants.

  What luck he’d found when she’d invited him back to her hotel. Not only would it make investigating her easier, he’d enjoy the process of mixing business with pleasure.

  “Our hotel is a few blocks from here. Mind if we walk?”

  He glanced at her sexy open-toed shoes. “Can you in those heels?”

  “No. I rarely wear them.” With a sheepish grin, she added, “That’s why I was so clumsy in the club.”

  He leaned in closer. “Luckily, I was there to catch you.” Her alluring scent filled his nostrils, unique but utterly feminine, which made the beast inside roar to life. Once again, the primal, all-consuming reaction made him suspect supernatural elements.

  She had to be a siren. Why else would he react this way? Hmm, another reason to stay vigilant; sirens were dangerous, luring men to their demise with a smile on their faces.

  After giving him a puzzling glance, she pulled out a pair of flats that looked like black ballet slippers. “That’s why I brought these.”

  “Ah. Prepared.” He wanted to take her hand again, but remembered her reaction earlier when he’d thought she’d pull away. Better to take it slow with her. Even if she’d invited him back to her hotel room, he couldn’t come on too strong.

  Sensual images flashed through his mind, making his shaft twitch. Kissing her neck, her breasts, stroking the insides of her thighs.

  More practical considerations followed, stifling his lustful urges. Pursue, investigate…and capture and disarm if dangerous. His vacillating responses to this woman was a challenge; he’d never reacted to someone like this before.

  He sent Arto a quick message. Going with the female. Suspect she’s a siren.

  A siren, here in Boston? Arto replied.

  I sensed dark magic on the rooftop. He wasn’t about to get into the strong attraction he didn’t quite understand. Going to find out for sure.

  Be careful. You know their lure. Seductive but dangerous. Shall I stand by as backup?

  No, not yet. Your eyes will serve better on watch. If there’s trouble, I’ll let you know.

  “You’re rather quiet,” she pointed out. “Lost in your thoughts?”

  He snapped back to the moment, redirecting his attention to Larissa. “I’m not one for small-talk.”

  She studied him. “Neither am I.”

  “No need to talk unless there’s something worth saying.”

  “True,” she agreed. “But sometimes the silence can get too quiet. You were somewhere else.”

  If she only knew. He was a gargoyle, communicating with one of his sentries about investigating her.

  “Just thinking.”

  “Changing your mind?” She cocked a brow. “You looked rather serious.”

  “Thinking about all the things we could do once we’re alone.” Sure, he’d been communicating to Arto, but thoughts of seducing her weren’t far from his mind, making it partially true. The undeniable chemistry between them…hell, it distracted him too much. Her lips were too luscious not to kiss. The sinuous lines and curves of her body begging him to touch them.

  He had to stop before he grew as hard as the nearby lampposts. First he had to figure out what she was doing in the city. Why was she staying in a hotel? “Are you visiting from out of town?”

  “No. Jamaica Plain.”

  “That’s not that far. Why would you need to rent a room?”

  She tilted her head. “It was a big night for us. We haven’t gone out dancing in a long time, so we wanted to make the most of it. But it looks like Janie won’t be coming back for some time.”

  Good. He wanted to be alone with Larissa. Couldn’t even wait to get to the hotel. He had to kiss her now, taste those sweet lips.

  He glanced around to see if anyone was nearby. When a couple passed beyond a building, he took her forearms and pressed her against the brick wall of a building. Her eyes widened with fear at first before she broke his hold, spinning around and adopting a defensive stance with her arms braced before her. Ready to fight him.

  So much for taking it slow.

  “It’s okay, Larissa,” he said in a soothing tone. “I just wanted to kiss you.”

  She dropped her arms, steely resolve leaving her eyes. “I should warn you, I’m a police officer. I interpret quick movements like that as dangerous.”

  She was a cop? That didn’t fit his perception of a role a siren would take on. But it explained the wariness, the constant vigilance in her eyes as she scanned her surroundings.

  Other associations shot rapidly through his brain as he tried to fit the pieces together. She’d been a damn riddle all night, and th
e more pieces he acquired for her puzzle, the more difficult it was to put them all together.

  “Are you on duty tonight?”

  “No.” She tilted her head to one side, narrowing her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  Her piercing stare was sexy as hell. “You’d pull off sexy undercover cop well.” His gaze fell to her lips.

  “No, I’m not on some undercover assignment.” She pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Just a night out with my friend.”

  Everything about her was calling to him, his body warring with the questions piercing his brain. Her beauty and her scent, not to mention her lips, tormenting him mere inches from his own. If he bent down, he could reach them in a heartbeat. No erratic movements, or she would probably kick him in the groin, which was already swollen with all the blood pumping there.

  Before he made another mistake, he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

  When he glanced at her eyes, the earlier fright had been replaced by a darker glint, one of desire. Her pupils enlarged to cover most of the dark blue of her irises. Her lips parted, inviting him in, but then she pulled back.

  “Not here.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The anticipation all but killed him as they walked down Boylston Street along the Boston Public Garden and past the Edgar Allen Poe statue, toward the hotel. He was so hard it ached, and he would have taken her against the wall if she would have gone for it.

  Forcing thoughts of his aching shaft aside, he spent the rest of the walk searching for any signs of malice. That palpable energy lingered in the air, but provided no further insight of its source.

  They reached the hotel, one of those chain ones found in major cities. The draw had to have been the rooftop bar. Even from the ground, the lush plants were visible, flowery vines trailing across white trellises. For him, that detail was a plus—giving him access to watch over the city from that vantage point.

  What about Larissa? It was the second time she’d picked a location with a rooftop setting. Was she trying to watch for something? Or communicate with someone? Perhaps she liked open spaces, but considering all the questions she’d raised, he had to approach this detail from all angles.

  If she could fly, the convenience of a rooftop would make sense. Questions swirled as they entered the lobby and she bypassed the elevators for the stairs.

  “You don’t take the elevator?” It was rare that he met a human who didn’t choose pressing a button rather than moving their feet.

  “Stairs are good exercise,” she declared. “I take them as much as possible.”

  “Ah. And I’m guessing when you chase the bad guys, nobody is waiting for the elevator.”

  She rewarded him with a small laugh, the first one of the night. Better than music. Eliciting a laugh from her was a small coup.

  “No, they choose the quickest escape routes. Cutting through alleys, private property, whatever they can.”

  They climbed seven flights to her floor. She slid her key card against the reader, and they entered a standard two-bedroom with a desk, bureau, and television. The nonstandard part was the view of the city. Lights shone from buildings of all heights. If it was impressive at this level, it must be even more so from the roof.

  “It’s too quiet in here.” She kicked off her shoes. “Let me put some music on.”

  While she plugged her phone into the clock radio, he studied her, his gaze roaming directly to her backside. Her dark hair ran in shiny, lustrous waves down past her shoulder blades. Her arms were toned, he guessed from many days working out to stay in prime shape. He scanned down and noted the muscles in her calves. And she had feminine curves that softened her fit silhouette, a small waist tapering out into a decadent, lush ass—one he couldn’t wait to get his hands on.

  He had one night with her, and he wouldn’t waste a minute of it.

  “Ah, I know this song.”

  “Stone Temple Pilots. All in the Suit that You Wear.”

  “I like it.” One thing humans excelled at was music. No other species had mastered their originality with sound—classical, rock, jazz, blues, country, and more.

  Most of the supernatural beings he’d met admired human creativity when it came to the arts and music.

  Larissa said, “I have a bottle of white wine on ice. From a Vermont winery. I liked it so much when I visited there in the spring, I bought a case. Would you like a glass?”

  “With such a positive appraisal, I’d be a fool not to.”

  The only places to sit were on the single chair or on one of the beds. He chose the latter, one where he could watch her. She pulled the cork from the bottle and poured two glasses of pear-colored liquid. Handing him one, she put hers down on a coaster and sat on the opposite bed, at least two feet away, putting distance between them.

  Shifting her position on the bed, she sipped her drink, put it down, and shifted again, crossing her legs. Why was she so nervous?

  Another song came on, which sounded familiar. “Who is this?” He had yet to connect many songs with the artists.

  “Audioslave. Like a Stone.” Her scent greeted him again, one that encouraged him to lay her back on the bed and drink her in. She adjusted her skirt again, moving restlessly across from him.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Just a little nervous.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t usually do—” she motioned to the space between them, “—this.” Her lips opened and closed again. “Not sure what came over me in the dome.”

  He arched a brow. “You mean you don’t invite men back to your hotel to seduce them like you did with me?”

  “No.” Her eyes widened. “God, no. Never.”

  “Oh?”

  “I mean, I don’t know you at all. You could be bad news. I warn young women about this all the time, and yet here we are.”

  “We are indeed.” What could he say that would help to relax her? “Are you having second thoughts?” Damn, that wasn’t it. That was the last thing he’d planned to say. He hoped she didn’t change her mind, because all he wanted to do was kiss and suck on that lush bottom lip she kept biting as she squirmed across from him.

  “Yes,” she replied. “And no.”

  “If you’re worried I’m some kind of psycho, I assure you I’m not.”

  She gave him a dead-eyed stare, followed by a glint of amusement. “That’s exactly what a psycho would say.”

  He chuckled at her unexpected response. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Her laugh followed. A real laugh. Not like the small one she’d rewarded him with earlier, but a full, genuine one that bubbled out of her, which made him beam with pride. With her reserved nature, he sensed she didn’t laugh often. In fact, he’d caught a troubled expression a few times tonight, when she’d thought she wasn’t being watched. A haunted echo in her eyes. Why?

  “I like hearing you laugh,” he pointed out. “Must mean I’m finally doing something right—even if I haven’t convinced you I’m not a serial killer.”

  “Maybe.” She smiled while focusing on her drink, lost in some thought.

  The song ended, followed by another one he recognized. Heart of Stone. The Rolling Stones. Observing how guarded she’d been all night, save for moments when she’d let him in, he wondered if that described her. No. That wasn’t it. The connection came to him.

  Stone.

  Was she playing with him, knowing what he was?

  “Interesting.” He leaned back and appraised her in a new light. “All these songs refer to stone.”

  “Excuse me?” A confused expression appeared on her face.

  He studied it to pierce the intent. Mock innocence?

  “Every title or artist mentions stone.”

  Her gaze drifted up and to her left. “Oh yes. I don’t remember making a playlist like that, but it sounds like something I’d do.” She waved a hand. “Wicked dorky, I know. When you live alone, you find ways to amuse yourself.”

  Roman ran his hand over his mouth.
A connection? A warning?

  Bah, impossible. Just an odd coincidence.

  “Wicked,” he repeated, the word he’d heard more times in Boston than anywhere else. Only here, it was used for emphasis rather than to describe evil, which was how the gargoyles interpreted it. “You must be local.”

  “I grew up in Brighton, which is where I work now. Went to school in Lowell and then spent some time in Brookline and Cambridge. Now I’m in JP. I’ve never moved out of state.” She nodded at him. “What about you? I catch an accent.”

  One that wasn’t easily explained. His clan, the Stone Sentries, moved where they needed to be over the decades, following where the danger lay, but mostly covering Western Europe and North America. Roman had received the assignment after a terror incident at the Boston Marathon; two brothers had set off bombs near the finish line, killing or maiming countless runners and bystanders.

  “Probably a little of this and a little of that. My family moved around Europe and the U.S.”

  “Was one of your parents in the military or something like that?”

  Something like that. “No. But we’ve moved for—” what was a word he could use to explain it? “—opportunities.”

  Larissa squinted her eyes, eying him with a guarded expression, before she sipped her wine. Her lips glistened with moisture. An urge to touch them came over him. Kiss them. He pictured her wrapping them around his cock, and it twitched with excitement again.

  Her expression turned neutral, an unreadable ice princess. A goddess too tempting to resist, who could only be worshiped from a distance.

  He wanted to be the one to break the distance. Uncover a crack in her tough exterior and find a way in.

  Why was he so enchanted by her? Had she cast a spell on him? With all her push-and-pull this evening, it was unlikely, unless the goal was to drive him crazy with need. If that were the case, she’d damn well succeeded with the way they’d parried in a sort of sensual dance. Blood rushed between his legs, urging him to continue. He adjusted his sitting position.