Falling for the Gargoyle Page 3

  Leaving her standing in the middle of the lounge, Knuckles moved into the small kitchen area and put the kettle on. “Tea or coffee?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. “It will help with the shock."

  "Err, coffee, please. The stronger the better."

  Knuckles nodded, moving around the tiny kitchen with the ease of long practice. Unlike some other paranormals, he didn't have weird dietary requirements. He didn't need to eat, but he liked to cook so the cupboards were filled with food.

  He watched her out of the corner of his eye, automatically tracking her as she padded forwards. His jacket still swamped her. It hit her at knee length, and there was enough fabric in it to wrap around her a couple of times. He smiled to himself as he dumped instant coffee granules in the two mugs and waited for the kettle to boil. Cute as hell, she looked like a small child playing dress-up.

  "A gargoyle?” she asked, fascination written over her face as she slid onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar opposite him. “Like you see on buildings?"

  Knuckles’ lips quirked as the spoon clicked against the side of the mug. He slid the coffee over to her and leaned back against the counter. Automatically he slouched, trying not to loom. It was an instinctive reaction, one he'd learned years ago. 101 ways not to make the squishies nervous. “Yeah, like on buildings. Well, not the modern stuff you see. Traditional stuff, churches…that sort of thing."

  "Oh."

  One delicate hand emerged from the long sleeve of his jacket to clasp the mug, her slender fingers wrapping around the handle. Knuckles’ eyes riveted to it. What would it feel like to have those fingers wrapped around his cock? Wrapped around his cock and slowly pumping the hard flesh?

  He bit back a groan and forced his eyes away. This time they focused on her lips as she took a sip of the hot liquid. Full, pouty lips which would look just right… He cut the thought off—he knew where that one was going—and a bead of sweat trickled down his spine. He was going to hell, express route, baby.

  "So…were you…?"

  Gray eyes looked at him over the rim of her mug. Behind it he could see her biting her lip. He took pity on her and answered anyway. “On a building? Yeah. St. Michael and All Angels, just shy of Sherwood."

  Her eyes widened. “So you're English? Bit far away from home, aren't you? What happened to St. Michael's?"

  "Decommissioned and closed. Apartment block there now.” He buried his nose into his mug. The scalding liquid burned his lip but he ignored it, savoring the pain; anything to get his mind off the cute little thing who sat on the other side of the bar. He should never have brought her up here. She was too innocent, far too trusting. With no idea of what he was, she'd willingly entered his “lair.” He shook his head to himself. If anyone had told him this morning there were still such naive humans around, he'd have called him a liar.

  "You don't look much like a gargoyle."

  A snort of laughter escaped him. “Yeah, right, I'm an ugly bastard and I know it. Ain't nothing going to change that now."

  Neri swirled her mug in her hands and watched the rich, dark liquid move. He wasn't ugly. At least, she didn't think so. He was huge, easily over six foot and broad with it, and his face…well, determined was one word. Undeniably masculine, with its strong lines and planes, was another. But ugly? No, she wouldn't say that.

  "No, what I meant was you look…” She trailed off again and sighed. How the hell did she say this without sounding rude?

  "Normal?” He said it for her, a weird look on his face.

  "You get that a lot I take it?"

  He nodded, setting the mug on the side next to him. The movement caused the fine fabric over his chest to pull, revealing a hint of the heavy muscles she'd felt there earlier. “Humans are always curious about us paranormals. Because I don't bother to hide it anymore, I get most of the questions; the other staff not so much."

  It took Neri a moment to realize he'd spoken. All her attention riveted on the small triangle at his throat where the shirt parted to reveal the hollow of his throat. Would he be the same all over, that hard muscle and firm skin she'd felt under his jacket? What would that feel like against her softer, human flesh…

  "Huh? What? None of the other staff are human?” she asked to cover her lapse. “They look human."

  His lips, surprisingly full and sensual in such a starkly masculine face, curved into a smile. “Most of them are except for senior staff. And looking human… Well, that's sort of the point. Paranormals who couldn't hide what they were from lynch mobs tended not to breed much. Selective evolution."

  Neri nodded. It made sense. But one thing was bothering her, and her curiosity, once unleashed, wouldn't leave it alone. “So, gargoyles look human. What about the ones that are all…weird creatures. With wings and stuff?"

  Ahh, Knuckles understood what was puzzling her now. He shrugged, strong fingers gripping the edges of the granite work surface. This was where the curious look in her eyes, bright and innocent, turned into disgust, or even worse, fascinated excitement.

  "We look different in the daylight. Sunlight turns us to stone as we sleep.” Hopefully that would stop her and he wouldn't need to explain any further. No such luck. She slid off the barstool and padded around the counter until she stood in front of him.

  "So do you have wings?” She tilted her head to one side, her eyes wide with interest, and the cupid's bow of her lips pursed a little as she waited for his answer.

  "Do you ever stop asking questions?"

  "Not usually.” She shook her head and laughed. Her dark hair danced over her shoulders as the musical sound danced around the room. Just for that, that carefree, happy little sound, Knuckles would have done anything. Usually people ran screaming when they realized what he was.

  Gargoyles weren't as sexy as vamps, even though there was less chance of them ripping your throat out for a snack. Still, humans tended to equate charm and good looks with good intentions, which was probably why they ended up as food.

  "Yeah, I got wings. Claws, tail, the whole works.” Why the hell was he telling her? He never usually spoke about this sort of stuff. Usually he told the curious to get lost in no uncertain terms whether they were asking invasive questions of him or another member of the club staff.

  He watched her as she stood in front of him, arms wrapped tight around herself. She was so tiny and delicate he was scared to breathe on her in case she broke. Knuckles was not telepathic, or empathic. He couldn't read auras, and he didn't have freaky talents like some paranormals.

  He could tell she was looking for something though. Perhaps proof that not everyone out there was a monster. After time spent with Carrick and his bully boys he didn't blame her. In fact, he wouldn't have blamed her if she was paranoid of anything vaguely masculine that drew breath.

  Her hand reached out, touching his arm where it was folded over his chest. Knuckles stopped breathing. The first, tentative touch sent a wave of fire through his body. The second started the inferno low in his pelvis.

  Her fingertips skittered over his forearm, pressing against him to test the firmness of his skin, tracing the line of the muscles. “Your skin is harder."

  Ain't the only thing, baby. He was at full attention and harder than he'd ever been before. His nostrils flared. The temptation to boost her up on the counter behind her, strip her panties down her smooth thighs and bury himself balls deep in her softness nearly got the better of him. He swallowed and shifted position. Just don't look down, doll, please. I'm not a fucking rat like Carrick, but you're a beautiful woman… I'd have to be dead not to notice.

  "Oh, did I hurt you?” She lifted her hand, eyes lifting to his with concern in their depths. They weren't gray, he realized, but almost silver, with tiny flecks of green around the center. Eyes he could lose himself in.

  Mine to protect. Mine to love. Just…mine. The possessive thought welled up from nowhere, taking him by surprise and stealing his breath away. Smiling, he shook his head. “Doubt you could. Not used to being tou
ched is all."

  "Oh, get out of here. I bet you have all the women hanging after you,” she teased, slapping his arm. The blow didn't bother him one iota but her flirting floored him. Flirting. With him. Need surged quick and fast, diffusing through his bloodstream at light speed. He gaped at her for a moment before he got himself together.

  "I wouldn't put it quite that way.” He avoided her gaze.

  Was he…blushing? Neri ducked down a little to catch his eye. “Hey, still with me?” she asked with a smile. He had beautiful eyes. They were dark, not brown but a faded black, like a pair of black jeans which had been washed until the color was going.

  Forgetting she'd asked a question, Neri moved in closer. His scent struck her, the scent of a man, aftershave and shower gel over warm skin. She inhaled, filling her lungs. Entranced, she reached up and dragged the pads of her fingers down his cheek.

  Knuckles sucked in a quick breath, his lips parting. Neri focused on them as her own parted in response. Beautiful eyes, kissable lips. Lips. Oh, hell yeah, very kissable lips. Would they be as hard as his skin? Or would they be soft and warm like human lips…like her lips?

  Only one way to find out.

  Neri reached up on tiptoe with one hand resting on a huge forearm for support. A soft touch on his jaw brought his head down to hers. His breath whispered against her mouth and sent a shiver running the length of her spine in response.

  She brushed his lips with hers, the gentlest touch. His lips were warm and soft, just their touch against hers setting them to tingling. She moaned and pressed closer, needing more. Ever since the alleyway she'd been aware of him, been aware of the spark between them. The fact that he wasn't human didn't bother her in the slightest.

  Oh please, let him feel it too, she begged silently as she slid her arms around his neck and angled her head for him, her lips parting in invitation.

  Knuckles had changed his mind. She wasn't human; she was his own demon, sent to oversee his personal version of hell. A groan welled up from deep in his chest as she offered her lips to him, offered herself. There was no way she'd be able to fight off a determined gargoyle, and she had to know that. Then the truth hit him like a sledgehammer. She trusted him; despite the way he looked, she trusted him.

  Not about to waste such a precious gift, Knuckles wrapped his arms around her, trying to be gentle. His legs parted as he leaned back against the counter to let her step between his thighs. One hand stole up her back and cupped the nape of her neck as the other settled gently in the cello curve of her hip. Wrapped around her he took his time, savoring the sensation as he brushed his lips over hers again, teasing them both with anticipation.

  She didn't stiffen, or panic at his touch. Instead, soft hands crept over his shoulders, their touch burning as though the layer of fabric between their skin didn't exist. Her lips clung, his molded and caressed as he explored. And all the time half of him was waiting for her to panic and push him away. But it didn't happen. She came alive under his kiss, reacting so sweetly the savage ache in Knuckles’ groin almost doubled him over with need and longing.

  His tongue snaked out, flicking along the underside of her top lip to part them. She opened for him with a sigh and Knuckles knew he was lost. With a small moan of surprise and pleasure he deepened the kiss. His tongue slid into her mouth to explore, gently teasing her tongue to twine around his. It was a long, slow and sensual kiss which had her shivering and moaning in his arms.

  The kiss got hotter, deeper, and he turned her around. They were no longer Knuckles and the waif he'd rescued from the alley, but just a man and a woman locked into a sensual spell as the world contracted down to the two of them.

  He wanted more…needed to feel more…taste more. Pinning her in the corner where the counters met, he had the jacket off her shoulders and the ruins of her top dropping to the floor behind him before he realized what he'd done.

  His large hand swept up her back, naked except for the band of her bra under her shoulder blades. Then she flinched, a soft sound of pain in her throat, and Knuckles realized what he was doing. What he'd been about to do…

  "Fucking hell. Oh God… I'm sorry.” He backed up, just now seeing the bruises across her hips and ribcage. Panicked, he stumbled in his haste to get away from her, put some distance between him and the sweet temptation of her curvy body and soft, fragrant skin. She'd trusted him to look after her, trusted him enough to let him kiss her and look at what he'd done.

  "I'm so sorry.” Frustration and shame filled him as he bolted for the French windows which led out into the night. He needed to get out of here fast, before he hurt her any more. The doors slammed shut behind him and he was gone, leaving Neri standing alone in the kitchen.

  Chapter 4

  Okay… Neri watched his retreating back in dumbfounded amazement. What did I do to spark that one off? She leaned back against the counter and ran a shaking hand through her mass of tumbled curls.

  Then she saw the finger marks in the counter on either side of her hips. A perfect impression of his fingers in solid granite, like other people would leave in butter or dough. Her eyes as wide as saucers, she touched one. Her finger dipped into the depression.

  The shiver chasing up her spine as she looked toward the closed door to the balcony wasn't anything to do with pleasure. It had more to do with her survival instincts telling her the man who had held her achingly gentle as he'd kissed her was dangerous.

  Far more dangerous than Neil. Far more dangerous than Jason.

  They could only kill her. She knew without asking that Knuckles wouldn't physically hurt her, gargoyle or not. No, something deep inside her told her he could be far more dangerous than that. She had a feeling Knuckles could destroy her heart and soul as well, if she let him close enough.

  Pushing away from the counter Neri stood for a moment in the middle of the room. Indecision warred within her. Should she go after him? His tortured expression when he thought he'd hurt her had cut her to the quick. She brushed her hands over her hips where the dull ache of an old bruise told her what had set him off. She looked down. Fading bruises circled her hips and scattered artistically up her ribcage like an artist had gone to town on her body with browns and greens.

  Jason's temper tantrum last week. The one, in fact, which had prompted her to try and leave him, for all the good it had done her. Why couldn't she have dated a normal guy who just deleted her number from his cell phone when she dumped him? No, she had to get the nut who decided she needed to die instead. And she would have, if Knuckles hadn't intervened…

  She looked toward the closed door with purpose. If anything, she should at least let him know he hadn't hurt her. In fact, Neri couldn't remember the last time she'd been kissed like that, or held so gently or with such reverence. For a woman with minimal romantic experience, it was like showing a starving man bread. She wanted more, and soon.

  Walking over to the door on silent feet, Neri paused just inside, her hand on the wooden frame. She couldn't see much in the darkness out on the balcony, just the shadows and a dark, hulking shape in the corner. A swish of movement near the floor caught her eye.

  Whoa, was that a tail? Taking a deep breath for courage, she pushed the door open and stepped into the darkness.

  Knuckles was aware the moment she stepped through the door. The balcony—which had seemed expansive before—was suddenly too cramped. In fact the world was too cramped when she looked at him with that look on her face, a combination of concern, vulnerability and need.

  Everything gargoyle in him wanted to protect her, wrap her in his arms and comfort her. Everything male in him wanted to crush her to him and slake both the need he could see in her eyes and the need which raged unabated inside him, a need so great that only the scattered marks of violence across her pale flesh had stopped him.

  His body wanted delicate and fragile. It wanted the haunting beauty standing in front of him, but his mind recognized the danger, the danger to her. His tail lashed the shadows as he shrank deeper
within them and used the darkness to conceal his true, monstrous form.

  "Go away, Neri. It's… I'm not safe.” His voice was thick and guttural as he warned her off.

  She screwed her eyes up, trying to see in the darkness. She was human. Humans saw about as well in the dark as a carrot-deficient rabbit; they were totally blind and defenseless. A huff left his massive chest, a slab of stone-like muscle far broader than the form she'd already seen. “Knuckles? Oh, honey, you didn't hurt me."

  Her hand groped blindly in front of her as she took a step into the darkness. Knuckles retreated until his shoulders were against the wall. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. He'd faced down drunks high on mind-altering chemicals. He'd faced down violent Fae and hungry vampires, but it was a tiny human female who had him cowering in the corner.

  "Sweetheart, these are old, almost gone.” She swept a hand over her softly curved stomach. That was another thing he liked about her, his attention sidetracked for a moment. She had soft natural curves, not the angular curves of the half-starved perpetual dieter.

  "Look at the color of them. You didn't cause them, Knuckles, I promise. You didn't hurt me at all. I don't think you would…"

  Her voice wove a hypnotic spell around him, and he wavered in the darkness. She took another step forwards as if sensing his indecision. The air whispered over his hardened skin as her hand searched for him again.

  "I could though.” He coiled his legs under him and hopped up onto the ledge next to the balcony to put distance between them. He could feel himself wavering, the temptation whittling at his resolve. He could handle himself, handle his own desires, but when she was offering it on a plate…?

  His claws dug into the stone and latched onto the steel bar buried within. She tracked the movement somehow, perhaps the air crossing her face, looking up to where his voice emanated from.

  "You could. But you won't.” Amusement crossed her expressive features. “Now this has to be a first. Usually it's the guy persuading the woman to have sex. Not the other way around."