Rocked by Love (Gargoyles, #4)(28)
About three seconds before Kylie figured her socks would start smoking, he finally pulled back and stared at her. It took a few seconds for her eyes to uncross and focus again, but when they did, all she could read from his expression was the same shock and confusion she felt herself. Was a kiss that good a novel experience for him, too?
Dag snatched his hands from her and stepped back, leaving Kylie swaying on her feet like a birch tree in a windstorm. No lie. She actually had to reach out and put a hand on the desk to steady herself while the big lug just stared at her as if she’d been the one to knock him over the head with a lust hammer. How unfair was that?
When the room stopped spinning and her fine motor control finally returned, Kylie cleared her throat and opened her mouth. “Dag, I—”
“I will check security outside. No more drude will surprise us this day,” he grumbled approximately one-half second before he fled out the door like a scared little girl.
Oh, hell, who was Kylie kidding? She didn’t blame him a bit. A few minutes alone to regroup sounded like a mighty fine idea to her. As did a stiff drink, a slap upside the head, and a long, cold shower.
Groaning, she dropped back onto her balance ball, overshot her mark, and landed tokhes over teakettle halfway under her desk. Make that two stiff drinks. And she’d pour herself one in just a minute.
Right after she got the feeling back in her legs.
Stupid gargoyle.
Testosterone, she reflected as she stared up at the underside of her desk drawer. Forget the demons; testosterone would be the real death of them all.
Chapter Seven
A klole iz nit keyn telegram; zi kumt nit on azoy gikh.
A curse is not a telegram; it doesn’t arrive so fast.
As if the scent of her hadn’t been enough, now Dag had to contend with the taste of her as well. And it was nothing but his own thoughtless fault.
He could not even conjure himself a worthwhile excuse. One moment they discussed the task they had set out to accomplish, and the next she once again gave vent to that sharp, impudent tongue of hers, and his control snapped. He could think of nothing more than silencing her, of demonstrating to her once and for all that as a Guardian, he bore the responsibility for the success or failure of their endeavors, and therefore he would rightly make the decision of when and how to move forward.
Unfortunately, his unruly instincts had ceased caring about moving forward on the quest for the nocturnis’ defeat. Their only concern had become imprinting his claim on the young female’s smart and sassy mouth, as well as a host of her other more intriguing bits and pieces.
This weakness displeased him. A Guardian, like any warrior, must live by his strength, and emotion was a creature’s greatest weakness. If he allowed himself to feel affection for another, it set the stage for worry to creep in at a critical moment. A worried warrior could not focus all his attention on his foe, and this opened him to the attacks of his enemy. Even rage could blind a Guardian in a crucial moment, but love was the greatest vulnerability a creature could have.
Love.
He tried to push the word from his mind as he circled the three accessible sides of Kylie’s semidetatched home. One common wall shared with the neighboring building gave him pause, but short of knocking on the door and demanding its occupants move out and allow him to take over their space, little could be done to address the concern. He would need to keep a close eye on the situation.
Yet another thing emotion made all the more difficult. How was a warrior to give his full attention to his duties when his thoughts constantly strayed to an aggravating female? He could overlook some subtle threat and thereby place not just himself but all of humanity in jeopardy.
No, a Guardian must remember the stone in which he slept and keep that cool, firm resolution in mind in the face of even the most extreme temptations. Especially when the temptations tasted of mint and spice, butter, herbs, and endless pleasure.
At the end of the deep, narrow alley beside the house, Dag paused and drew in a deep breath. He held it in for a long moment, then let it out slowly and allowed his head to fall back to his shoulders as he struggled to regain the equilibrium that had deserted him for the first time in his long memory. The battle raged within him for endless minutes before he felt his control return. Of course, how long it would last in the face of his female’s confusing chatter and wicked impertinence remained to be seen.
No, he would remember his duty and not allow his instincts or his inclinations to threaten his balance. It would be a simple matter of focus and discipline.
Too bad his female seemed incapable of either of those herself.
After a brief pause to assure himself of a cool head, Dag reentered the front of the house and returned to the office. As he’d predicted, Kylie once again sat at her desk, bouncing atop the ridiculous sphere she used in place of a proper chair. She didn’t bother to look up when he stepped in the room, merely kept her gaze on her computer monitors and continued with the muffled clatter of rapid typing.
She thought to ignore him? Indignation threatened to rise, but he shoved it down and stomped on it. No emotion, he reminded himself. Her strategy was a sound one, and he would do well to emulate her. Repeating those words to himself, he turned to the only other chair in the room and found it already occupied.
No nocturni or human visitor had snuck past his notice, Dag observed, but Kylie had acquired a guest regardless. A large, orange tomcat sat half curled on the battered toile cushion, one hind leg stuck in the air while he industriously cleaned his short, sleek fur. When Dag approached, the animal didn’t even bother to pause in his ablutions, just fixed unblinking yellow eyes on the stranger and continued to lick.