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

by Lisa Carlisle

  In a way, she didn’t blame him; she’d become morose and difficult to live with as her emotions seesawed depending on the latest news after the bombings. A family’s loss of a loved one or a dancer’s loss of a limb could leave her clutching for meaning after the senseless act. Other stories of heroism and selflessness left her buoyant that the goodness in people would always overcome the darkness. Still, another part of her thought her ex should have been more understanding and had more patience. She’d gone through so much as a rookie, and had almost lost her best friend. If Larissa hadn’t moved Janie, she likely would have been blown to bits. Although Larissa had rushed back to work after the bombs, insisting she was fine so she could help all those people affected in her beloved hometown, she now realized she’d been far from okay. Over a year after the attacks, she was coming back to herself, but it was taking time.

  Bringing Roman back with her tonight had been a way to break her dry spell and feel alive again, but stay the night? No, she wasn’t ready for that.

  She had to stop this. “That was fantastic,” she began, “but I have to warn you, I have problems sleeping.” It was true; insomnia had been her constant companion for far too long.

  The way he appraised her obvious dismissal made her want to crawl under the fluffy, white hotel bedspread.

  “It makes it tougher when there’s another person around.” She fixed on the framed artwork on the opposite wall, a print of the Federal-style brick townhouses and cobblestone streets of Beacon Hill. “I feel guilty about all the tossing and turning, and eventually climb out of bed. Here in the hotel room, there aren’t too many places to go.”

  Roman glanced at Janie’s bag, which undermined her explanation. But it was true. Janie slept like the dead and didn’t notice if Larissa put on the TV or puttered around at two a.m.

  “I understand,” Roman replied in a cool tone. “You’d like me to leave now.”

  What was her problem? If she were normal, she would give him a shot, instead of kicking this sex-on-a-stick guy who gave her phenomenal orgasms out the door.

  Once she’d opened a can of self-doubt, more worms slithered to the surface. Would it be so awful to be with someone who knew something about her, rather than keeping herself caged up in a cynical little package?

  She studied Roman’s hard, unreadable profile to determine if he’d fit that role. She’d been so quick to jump past the preliminaries and into bed with him for one night, she hadn’t even considered other options. All night, he hadn’t done a damn thing to indicate that he would ever harm her. Why couldn’t she lower her shield and be open to something potentially good?

  With a one-night stand? She scrunched her face. That wasn’t likely to go anywhere. Besides, opening that door would expose her, leaving her open to rejection and abandonment once again. A terrible idea.

  When he climbed out of bed, it gave her a great view of his ass. He was so damn hot. Perfect. His fine ass alone should be enough to warrant a return invitation to her bed.

  “It’s not like that,” she began. “I have insomnia. Most every night. I spend much of the night creeping around my apartment, trying to fill in the time until morning comes.”

  He’d covered himself with a pair of black boxer shorts. “Understood. I’d be in your space.”

  “Yes. No.” Ugh, she had no idea what she was saying. “It’s just—uh—”

  “It’s just what?”

  She exhaled audibly. Did she want him to go? Maybe he could stay the night and keep her entertained. Judging how talented he was in the bedroom, it would be time well spent. “Never mind. I don’t know what I was going to say.” Even as she said the words, her shoulders slumped in defeat. She’d blown it.

  He appraised her with a cool eye. “I don’t believe that for a second. But if you’re too much of a coward to say it, fine. I’ll get going.”

  “Coward?” Her mouth dropped open.

  He continued dressing. She could say something to stop him. Should say something. Yet her mouth remained clamped shut.

  He laced up his black shoes and walked to the door. She stood up and wrapped the sheet around herself.

  “Don’t worry about getting up.” His voice was terse, edged with anger, which accentuated the European inflection. “I can find my own way out.”

  “You can’t just call me a coward and leave,” she protested, pulling the sheet higher.

  He stopped and stared down at her. “Do you have something you want to say?”

  She raised her chin. “I just did.”

  He cocked a brow. “Impressive speech.”

  Walking toward the bathroom, he said, “I’ll be out of your precious space in a minute.”

  When he closed the door, she reached out for something to throw at it. The closest item was a face cloth, which didn’t give her any satisfaction as she hurled it at the door, but fell limply to the rug without the slightest of thuds.

  She sorted through a tangle of mixed emotions. A part of her wanted him to leave, the other very much wanted him to stay. Before she’d settled on either, he opened the door.

  “What is it about you, Larissa?” His voice was softer now. “Your self-protective manner makes me think you don’t want to get close to anyone. But there’s something underneath.” He rubbed his neck, eying her with deep speculation. “A vulnerability.”

  She bristled at the probing. “I’m not weak. And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I didn’t say weak. But I am more attuned to emotions than most and can read your conflict.”

  She’d been trained to study body language. She’d worked with many people who thought they’d mastered lie detection, which was not always true. “You can read minds?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “No. But I sense your inner struggle.”

  “There’s no struggle,” she lied.

  “This tough girl act, the ‘I don’t need anyone, I can take care of myself’ persona—there’s something underlying it that makes me think you actually need people more than you’d ever admit.”

  Ouch. He was slipping under her layers, leaving her far too exposed. Was her conflict that apparent? The bombings, followed by the unraveling of her relationship, had compounded the damage on her psyche; she’d desperately tried to put all her shattered pieces back together. She wasn’t comfortable sharing that information with anyone. “I have my family and my friends. Who else would I need?”

  “Someone else. A lover. A companion.”

  With that comment, he sliced right into her core. She thought she had that once with her ex, but he’d abandoned her during her most difficult period, right when she needed someone the most. She wasn’t going to make that mistake again, exposing herself to being hurt and deserted.

  “Are you saying you’re that person? Because I just met you tonight. Don’t you think that’s rushing things?”

  “No, I’m not saying that’s me. But I see your resistance to letting anyone close to you. What’s bothering me is why? What are you so afraid of?”

  Fear gripped her spine as a well of emotions bubbled to the surface. She shoved them back down, burying them where they belonged. “I’m not fit to be with anyone. I work all the time, in a dangerous profession with long hours. Plus, I’m damaged goods.”

  He strode toward her and touched her cheek so gently, she could have melted back onto the pillows.

  “Damaged how?”

  Fighting to regain her composure, she snapped, “Let’s drop it.”

  Her frosty tone did it. He gave her one last cool glance and walked to the door. “What I want to know is what you’re really doing out tonight. I know what you are. But I don’t know what you’re up to.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play. I’m not some human you can toy with.”

  “Human?” She stepped back. What an odd thing to say. “What is wrong with you?”

  He raised a pointed finger and warned, “Don’t try anything tonight. We’re watching. Wa
iting.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” she called after him. “Who?”

  He exited and the hotel door hung heavy, closing ever so slowly. A subtle hint to take action.

  “Wait!” She ran the short distance to the door just as it shut with a resounding click. She grabbed the handle, but then froze.

  What had that been about? Whatever. He was clearly a weirdo. It was better this way.

  She released the handle and reached into her overnight bag. Finding a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top, she debated whether she’d made a huge mistake. The two beds faced her, Janie’s untouched, and hers rumpled from their hot night—before she opened her mouth and ruined it.

  What. An. Idiot.

  She grabbed her hotel card key and ran out of the room. No sign of him in the hallway or waiting for the elevator. She opened the door to the stairwell and called his name.

  Nothing.

  Where the hell did he go?

  She ran down the steps barefoot, something she never would have done had she stopped to think. Pushing thoughts of gross germs aside, she hurried through the lobby and out the hotel. Searching in both directions, she found him. He stood about fifty feet ahead on the sidewalk, head tilted back as he glanced up at the night sky.

  The eclipse of the moon had begun, casting it with a red, ethereal glow.

  “Looks like it’s started,” Larissa said.

  Roman snapped out of wherever he had been and gave her a hard look. “What are you doing here?” he snapped.

  This wasn’t going to be easy. “I came to—uh—um.” She blew out a breath, not entirely sure what to say. “What I mean is—I was a jerk. I shouldn’t have treated you like that.” Shifting from one foot to the other, she added, “I’m sorry.”

  He continued to study her face, his still features not giving anything away. Like a beautiful statue, unable to be reached.

  The silence unnerved her, making her anxious to break through it. “What were you talking about upstairs? Who’s watching and waiting?”

  His expression turned grim as he pulled his gaze away. “The full moon brings out the worst in some people. My teammates are always on higher alert.”

  She exhaled. It had seemed like a warning to her specifically, but maybe she’d misread it. “Ah yes, police and ER staff can attest to that. It seems to bring out the crazies. More violent crime and ER visits.”

  “And tonight being a supermoon.” He tapped his thigh.

  A man over six feet tall with shoulder-length, honey-colored hair was watching them from across the street, sending an uncomfortable shiver along her spine. Damn, she was making a spectacle out, standing outside a downtown hotel, barefoot and half-dressed.

  Taking a gamble, she suggested, “Why don’t you come back upstairs?”

  Narrowing his gaze at her, he asked, “What about your trouble sleeping?”

  “Well,” she added with a naughty grin. “Thought we could watch a movie if I can’t sleep. I enjoyed your company. I’m sure we could find another way to stay entertained.”

  He gave her a long, hard look, making her insides clench, and she braced herself for rejection. In the next moment, the intensity of his stare vanished as his mouth spread into a brilliant smile and his eyes gleamed with decadence. “Happy to help you pass the time.”

  * * * * *

  Back in the hotel room, the fire was restoked, higher than before. After almost blowing her chance with Roman, Larissa savored every sensation. Every kiss, every touch.

  The way he made her body respond was worth it in itself, as if he were playing a song only she could hear. Something reached her beyond a physical reaction. Relief that he’d returned; comfort at his presence.

  What he’d said earlier was right—he wasn’t like other guys.

  After her umpteenth orgasm of the night, he took her from behind and drilled her with an increasing intensity that made her clutch at the white hotel linens. It was almost too much. As she was about to cry out how she couldn’t take it, he gripped her hips with a commanding hold and climaxed.

  For several moments, they regained control of their rapid breathing as their heated bodies cooled. Both were covered with a sheen of perspiration.

  When she found words, she said, “I’m glad you came back.”

  “As am I. That was worth getting kicked out,” he added with a wry grin.

  She winced at the reminder. At least, they’d made amends with quite a satisfying reunion.

  Roman propped his hand behind his head. “Are you going to try to rest?”

  Since the bombings, she slept even less than before, resembling the walking dead. “Not yet.”

  “Why can’t you sleep?”

  She dropped the remote. “I’ve never been a good sleeper.”

  “Never?”

  “No.”

  “How do you function?”

  Barely. “I’m used to it. I tell myself I don’t need as much sleep as most. Sometimes it’s easier to buy that than others.”

  He watched her with concern. “Did something happen?”

  Her pulse quickened. “Please, don’t shrink me.”

  “I’m not trying to. Just concerned.”

  Biting back a sarcastic comment, her typical coping mechanism, she said, “It got worse after the bombings.”

  “At the marathon?”

  The familiar anxiety returned. “Yes.”

  “Were you there?”

  Fragments of that day returned. The sonic booms that had sounded like cannon fire. Breaking glass. The acrid scents. Sulphur. Burned hair. Gunpowder. Screams, cries for help. Bodies on the ground. Missing limbs. Blood marred by dust—everywhere. Kids had been out that day, enjoying a beautiful sunny day with their families, which had turned dark by all the debris.

  After fighting the overwhelming urge to run to safety, she’d tried to help who she could. It had been agony to make choices on who to focus on while dozens cried out around her. Without immediate medical attention, many might have bled to death, and the critical need to make the right decision had clawed at her. Janie had been down, covered in blood and dirt and eyes wide with shock, but she wasn’t in as bad shape as some others who’d lost a leg. Larissa had done what she could to cover Janie’s wounds, ensuring her she’d be okay and would be back for her, and had helped those in the worst get to the hospital.

  She’d been a rookie, blinded by optimism, and then shattered. A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed it and nodded. This was not the time to discuss it.

  Forcing herself to the present, another thought ribbed at her, fighting for attention. “Why did you say you’re not just some human earlier?”

  Roman stiffened beside her on the bed. “I’m not.”

  She raised her brows. “That’s an odd way to put things.”

  A sardonic laugh escaped him. “Even more odd for a witch to point out.”

  That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. For anyone to say. “A witch?”

  “Yes,” he replied as a matter of fact.

  She blinked rapidly. “Did you call me—a witch?”

  He tilted his head before replying. “Yes.”

  She opened and closed her mouth like a fish. “Are you out of your mind?” Witches weren’t real; not in the supernatural sense, at least. Sure, she knew Wiccans existed, but he didn’t appear to be talking about it in that sense. In either case, she was neither and the way he’d penned her as one made all her muscles clench. Accusing someone of being a witch was part of a seventeenth century hysteria in Salem, not a normal thing to call someone in the twenty-first century. In any case, it did not sound complimentary.

  “No.” He raised his chin. “I know what you are.”

  Her face contorted with growing rage. “Why would you say that?”

  “Your scent.”

  She recoiled as if hit with a mallet. What in fresh hell was he talking about? Self-preservation leapfrogged to the surface. “My scent? Are you saying you think I smell like
a witch?”

  “I’m not trying to alarm you—”

  “Listen, buddy,” she cut him off. “I don’t know what your deal is—if you’re on some kind of hallucinogen or what—but that’s a messed up thing to say.”

  “Ah, I see.” He nodded. “You don’t want anyone to know your nature.” He raised his chin in speculation. “Why must you keep it a secret?”

  “You should seek psychological help.” She reached into her purse. “Here, take this card.” She tossed the business card of a shrink onto the bed, one that she kept to hand out if she saw the need while on duty. It wasn’t the department specialist she’d been forced to see. What a nightmare that had been. She hated talking about incidents, making her relive what she wanted to forget.

  Roman watched her with an expression she would describe as half amused and half confused. “You’re serious?”

  She slanted her head, not liking where this conversation was going. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You don’t know, do you? That you’re a witch.”

  “That’s it—I’m done talking about this.” She sprang off the bed and threw the shorts and tank top back on. What the hell was he talking about?

  “Wait. I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just that I haven’t met a witch who didn’t know what she was.”

  She turned back to face him, eyes burning. “I’m not a witch! Why do you keep saying that?”

  “Listen to me before you react, please. And let me ask you a question. Don’t you know there’s something different about you, not like everyone else?”

  She pursed her lips. He was treading near uncomfortable territory. As much as she wanted to run from this conversation, curiosity kept her feet planted.

  “Haven’t you always known that how you perceive the world is not how others see it?”

  She flinched and hoped she’d recovered her bearing before he noticed. “This is ridiculous. I need a minute.” It was too much.

  She ran into the bathroom and shut the door. Staring at her terror-stricken eyes in the mirror, a memory flashed before her.