Rocked by Love (Gargoyles, #4)(50)
She also wished her farkakta hormones weren’t pouting about the lack of shower sex. As if there weren’t one or two things in this world just a teeny bit more important than orgasms. And no, she was not asking for a vote.
Dag followed her into her bedroom, hiking a towel of his own around his hips. “Why do you doubt what is between us?” he demanded, looking distractingly hot in the plush gray towel with droplets of warm water beading his skin. “Do not tell me that you felt nothing when we joined, because I will call you a liar if you make the attempt.”
“Of course I felt something,” she snapped. “I’m not dead. But hot sex is a long way from predestined mates, so don’t look at me like I’m the jerk because your train left without me.”
He blinked at her, dark lashes spiky with moisture, and she saw his frustration in the way his skin wanted to bleed from tan to gray. “Once again you try to confuse me with your speech. I thought we had gotten past such juvenile tactics.”
“Juvenile? Just who do you think—” Kylie cut herself off and bit back what she had intended to say. “No, you know what? I am done having this discussion. I said we should wait, and that’s what I’m going to do. We both need a little bit of time to step back and figure out where we stand. And don’t tell me that you don’t,” she said, raising a hand to ward off his protest. “No. I don’t care if you think you’re fine just the way you are, because I need some time to think, and I’m darned well going to take it.”
She stomped over to her closet and gave him her back as she flung open the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to ask you to go get yourself dressed and meet me downstairs with the others, where we will behave like civilized Jews, gentiles, and Guardians, order Chinese food, and do what we all came here to do.”
Behind her, she could almost feel him vibrating with frustration, but when she finally gave in to the urge to peek, he had disappeared through the door to the second floor. When she heard that telltale step squeak, she threw herself back onto her bed and took a deep breath.
She had no idea what she was going to do. The word “confused” didn’t even begin to describe her current mental state. She’d felt off-kilter since the first moment Dag lifted her off the ground, and it had nothing to do with being flown over the rooftops of Boston and deposited in a church belfry. No, the huge gargoyle’s effect on her had nothing to do with gravity and everything to do with chemistry.
Yes, fine, she could admit it. They had something between them, something Kylie had never felt the likes of in her entire twenty-three (almost twenty-four) years. Oh, she had been in lust before, had even thought she was in love a time or two, but nothing compared to the feelings Dag stirred in her heart, her stomach, and in a host of other places she swore not to think about just now.
Maybe that was half her problem. Whatever Dag made her feel, she couldn’t find the right thing to call it, not in English or Yiddish. And she suspected that if she spoke another language, she wouldn’t find it in that vocabulary, either. All she knew was that the man drove her crazy in more ways than she wanted to count. That didn’t mean she believed in the “destined mates” story; it just meant she didn’t know what to believe.
And, yes, Kylie Kramer was a big enough person (barely) to admit that was the worst of it. For her whole life, Kylie had always known exactly where she stood, even when she didn’t like the view. Now? Well, now, she wasn’t even sure she had feet.
Closing her eyes and sticking her tongue out at the ceiling, Kylie gave in to her basest impulses and blew a long loud raspberry at the world. It even helped, at least a little.
Okay, she thought. She would give herself two more minutes to kvetch, and then she would haul her tokhes out of bed, put on some clothes, and go order pot stickers. With enough meat, dough, and dumpling sauce, anything in this world became possible.
Even facing a witch, two gargoyles, and Seven Demons from hell.
At least she wouldn’t have to do it on an empty stomach.
Chapter Eleven
Wen ikh ess, ch’ob ikh alles un dread.
When I’m eating, everyone can go to hell.
Kylie got her pot stickers. And her chicken mai fun, her beef with asparagus, and her vegetable spring roll. Actually, between her and the rest of their little group, the restaurant threw in free crab Rangoon, free hot and sour soup, and free almond cookies. Everything lay spread out on her giant coffee table like a three-day feast. The entire staff would probably be talking about the four people who ate like thirty, but whatever. Kylie never thought clearly on an empty stomach.
The food also served as a source of distraction, although by the time she had trooped downstairs either everyone had developed a conscience, or Dag had told them where to shove the knowing glances. Everyone seemed to be on their best behavior.
Dag finished relating the story of yesterday’s security installation and the hexed workman who had attacked Kylie. Fortunately, he left out the mea culpas and kept things short, so she didn’t feel tempted to shove her chopstick into his ear. Much.
“I’d say that answers the question of whether or not this Ott guy let Ky’s name slip before they killed him,” Wynn said with a wince. “They had to have been watching the house and waiting for an opportunity to have managed something like that. Definitely not a random-target thing.”