Temptation, Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 3 (9 page)

Chapter Seven

“No,” Gideon repeated for what felt like the thousandth time.

“But I
have
to go home.”

He had to give the woman points for dogged determination. The last rays of sun were streaking the sky, and she’d used every available opportunity since she’d awoken that morning to needle him on the subject. She hadn’t let up one bit. If anything, his continued resistance only seemed to fuel her resolve.

The school
this.
Her responsibilities
that. Her students. The charities she helped. Her damned houseplants. Nag. Nag. Nag.

Sweet Heaven, couldn’t the woman understand he was saving her life by keeping her there? Why the hell couldn’t she just say thank you and then be quiet?

“Please, Gideon,” she said softly, those big blue-green eyes of hers begging. This was a new tactic, and it made him instantly wary. Up until now, she’d tried commanding, arguing, ordering, reasoning. Even shrewd bargaining. This new beseeching tone made him uneasy.

She stood in the door to his study, her hands clasped tightly before her. Dear Lord, she looked so damned good. Better every time he saw her, Heaven help him. The red cashmere sweater he’d conjured for her this morning caressed her sweet curves, as did the faded blue jeans. To his chagrin, he found he rather enjoyed providing for her. Clothing, food, whatever she desired.

Well, everything but what she wanted most. To go home.

He closed the book he’d been flipping through with a snap and turned his back to her, his gaze blindly scanning the bookshelf in front of him. “Subject closed,” he reminded her over his shoulder. He reached up to replace the book on the shelf and then grabbed another, not paying the least bit of attention to the title.

The whisper of her boots crossing the area rug caused his body to slowly tighten. Muscle. By. Muscle.

In all fairness, maybe she hadn’t spent
every
moment nagging him. In truth, they’d actually passed the time, for the most part, in relative peace. As long as he worked hard to ignore the painful tightening in his loins every time she was near, which had been nearly every moment of the day as he’d taken his responsibilities of guarding her to heart.

That, and he still didn’t trust her not to bolt.

So he’d worked to keep them both distracted as much as possible. She was turning out to be an apt pupil with a quick mind when it came to chess. And she liked to paint. Though she professed to be nothing more than an amateur, painting solely for her own enjoyment, she was actually very good. They’d even read for a while in silence, different books in different corners of the room, but they’d been in the same room. So that counted. And they’d talked. She’d broached the subject, more than once, about him teaching her how to defend herself. He’d shot her down, of course. She wouldn’t stand a chance against an angel, let alone a demon. It would be cruel of him to set her up for that kind of failure. They’d watched TV. They’d played cards.

And he was running out of ideas of how to keep her entertained.

Her footsteps were perilously close now. He could smell her, the scent of her shampoo, and that vanilla and cinnamon scent that seemed to seep from her very pores. Damn it, just the smell of her made him painfully hard.

“Gideon.” She paused a few steps away. “Please, look at me.”

Drawing a deep breath, bracing himself, he turned to face her, clutching the book in front of him like a shield, though she couldn’t actually touch him. For some reason, a reason beyond his understanding, he didn’t want her to realize it. If she didn’t realize she couldn’t touch him then in some stupid, completely unrealistic way, maybe he could pretend he was normal.

Those eyes of hers, those damned beautiful, entrancing eyes, peered up at him as she caught the edge of her lower lip between her teeth. All thoughts of normal versus pretend slipped from his mind like dust in the wind. Against his will, he found himself looking at her mouth. Studying it. Craving a taste. Oh how he wanted to drink her in. Devour her. Wanted it so badly his hands trembled and his mouth went dry. His whole body burned with wanting her.

“I know you don’t want to discuss this. I’m sorry, but I can’t let this go. Can we at least compromise? Please?”

He nodded, distracted by the glistening moisture on her lush lower lip. Would she taste like she smelled? Of vanilla and cinnamon? Would sampling her bring comfort? Would it ease the ache? Or would it only enflame him? Make him desperate for more? Insatiable?

“Gideon?” she whispered.

The air seemed thicker, harder to breathe. Vanilla and cinnamon. Like cookies. He’d always been a sucker for cookies. He was drowning in those ocean-colored eyes. And he couldn’t think of a better way to go.

She seemed as mesmerized as he was. Another few inches and that pert little nose would brush against his. And that sprinkle of adorable freckles. He was so close he could count them. Every. Single. One. He wanted to kiss each one, trace them with his fingertips. And then he wanted to skate his hands over those lush, womanly curves. The warmth of her drew him like a magnet. Her eyelids drooped until just a hint of alluring color could be seen through her thick lashes. Her sweet, shallow breaths whispered across his lips. His arms ached with the need to hold her. His hands itched to touch her delicate skin, and he reached out for her.

Have to touch her…

Touch! Can’t touch!

Gideon yanked his hands back, jerked his head up, and staggered back a step.
Damn it!

That had been close. Too close.

“Compromise?” He echoed the first word that came to mind, shoving a shaking hand through his hair.

She blinked, clearly confused. She’d been under the same spell. He didn’t know whether to laugh with joy that she wanted him too, or curse his luck. But then, she seemed to recall her purpose. Her face filled with cautious hope.

Christ, what did I just say? Did I agree to something?

A slight frown pulled at his brow as he scrambled to replay the last few seconds of their conversation. No. He hadn’t agreed to anything. But he hadn’t rejected her out of hand either, as he usually did. And now she thought, obviously, that he was willing to listen, to entertain her proposal.

Damn it all to perdition.

She rushed on before he could interrupt, “Just give me one day. One day, that’s all. I swear! Take me back so I can make arrangements. I’ll tell my supervisor something’s come up, a distant family member got sick or something, and I have to take an extended leave of absence. Let me just get things squared away. Then I’ll stay here, or wherever you want me to stay. For a while, at least. And no more poking at you about going back. I promise.”

She waited a beat, licking her lips again. He followed the movement, and he couldn’t find his voice.

She must have taken his silence as a sign he was wavering. Giving him a tiny, encouraging smile, she pressed, “Please, Gideon, my job is all I have. My whole life. If I don’t go back, if I just skip classes without any word to anyone, I’ll get fired. I won’t be able to get another job as a teacher. I need to contact my supervisor. I have to let her know what’s going on. Not the angels and demons stuff,” she hurried to assure him. “But I have to tell her something. And I need to let the substitute know about lesson plans and…please, Gideon. Please?”

“It’s not safe for you to go to the school. They’ll look for you there.”

“Then give me my phone back. I’ll call her.”

Guilt swamped him. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He’d searched through her phone yesterday afternoon when she’d been occupied with her canvas and paints. Looking for anything that might stand out, anything that might tell him if she’d had more contact with Michael than she’d let on. He hadn’t been snooping, at least, that’s what he’d tried to convince himself.

He hadn’t found anything leading to Michael. But he had recovered several texts from someone named Brett. He’d read those texts shamelessly. All in the interest of protecting her, of course. And when he’d realized Brett had been expecting her for a date, well, his temper had gotten the better of him. The phone had drifted from his hand in tiny, crushed pieces before he’d even realized what he’d done.

“The phone’s gone,” he said flatly.

“Gone? Why?”

He scrambled to come up with a viable explanation. Something other than the truth. That he’d been jealous.

“They might be able to track you through your phone.”

There. That sounded reasonable. Never mind that it sounded like something he’d picked up off some TV crime show. Hell, yeah. That was a damned good possibility.

This news annoyed her. He could tell by the brief tightening of her lips. But she let it slide, thinking fast on her feet.

“Then let me use your phone,” she stated firmly. “I won’t have to go to school at all. You can take me to my house so I can pick up some things. I won’t take long. I promise.” She blinked up at him. “Please?”

He was going to cave. He could feel it, resist though he tried. This was a bad idea. Very bad.

“Stolas’s minions will be watching your house too. They won’t care who gets hurt,” he warned her.

“I’ll be fast, I promise. You can protect me, right? You can go everywhere I go. I won’t be out of your sight. Not for a minute. And there are the bracelets. If things get too hot, if someone—something—shows up, you can shimmer me away. I’m safe with you here, right? I’ll be safe with you there too.”

“There are ward stones surrounding this property, and spells, like there were at Sebastian’s farm. They prevent—or hinder, at least—other demons and most angels from shimmering inside the house and repel them from the property.”

“We’ll be careful. I’ll do everything you tell me.” She smiled, all innocence. Lifting her hand, she held it out, palm up in invitation. “You can even hold my hand so you know I won’t be too far away if we come under attack.”

Gideon recoiled from her hand, swiftly retreating behind his desk.

Her brows drew together on a sharp frown. Slowly, she lowered her hand, watching him now with unsettling awareness.

“Ten minutes,” he blurted. If he gave her what she wanted, maybe she’d be too happy to ask the questions he could see already forming on her tempting lips.

“Two hours,” she bargained instantly.

He narrowed his eyes. “One hour. No more.”

“Deal,” she chirped, grinning like that had been her goal all along. It probably had been. Frustrating woman. “I can call the school first thing in the morning. I won’t tell my supervisor where I am,” she added when he opened his mouth to object. “We could go to my house tonight, grab a few things and be out of there quickly. They won’t even know we were there.”

He heaved a defeated sigh. “You can use my phone tonight. We’ll go to your place tomorrow.”

Whirling around, she hurried to the door as if worried he might change his mind if she lingered.

But at the door, she paused, turning back. “Thank you, Gideon,” she said. And then she stepped out into the foyer and disappeared from sight. The sound of her footsteps faded as she ascended the grand staircase.

Like a brick upside the head, Gideon realized what had happened. He’d just been played. She’d come in all soft and pleading. So very different from how she’d behaved before. He should have been on his guard. Hell, he
had
been. And she’d still gotten around him. She’d identified what he’d wanted most, for her not to ask about his obvious aversion to touching, and used it to distract him, used it to get her way.

An admiring breath hissed from him as he sprawled onto the padded chair behind his desk. He braced one elbow on the armrest and balanced his chin on his thumb. Rubbing the edge of his finger thoughtfully back and forth over his lips, Gideon stared at the empty doorway.

He arched an eyebrow. The edges of his lips gradually lifted.

The little minx had no idea what she was up against.

Maggie’s internal clock woke her around six in the morning. Yawning, she rolled over and stretched, appreciating the languid rush of blood through her muscles. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, haunted by the scent of Gideon. It seeped from the pillow, and the bed itself. From the very air around her.

Her captor. The man who’d saved her—
no
, she corrected herself,
the demon
—the
demon
who’d saved her. She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

But determination rode her. She’d given it a lot of thought, and made up her mind last night after she’d gotten off the phone with her supervisor. She’d even wheedled a second call out of Gideon, explaining that she needed to contact Gail otherwise her friends would worry and eventually get the police involved. He’d grudgingly agreed.

Staying with Gideon, perhaps, could turn out to be a blessing in disguise. While the last thing she wanted to do was immerse herself any further into this other world, she’d be a fool to go on pretending that it didn’t exist. And an even bigger fool for not taking advantage of the situation. She wanted to survive, didn’t she? More than that, she wanted to live. A full, rich, rewarding life. Not a life spent looking over her shoulder, jumping at shadows.

And so she would convince Gideon to teach her how to fight. Somehow. She’d get him to teach her about those spells and special stones he’d referred to last night too. She’d learn how to protect herself so she never had to rely on someone else again. So she’d never be taken by surprise again.

Starting today.

After tossing back the covers, she rose and crossed to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, changed into a pair of running shorts, a sports bra and a T-shirt and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Sitting on the edge of the bed to tie her running shoes, she caught sight of something peeking out from the edge of the dust ruffle. Maggie got down on her knees and pulled a book from beneath the bed.

A Studied Compilation of Ancient Mayan Myths and Rituals.

It was an old book. Worn. As if someone had been using it regularly as a point of reference. Several pages were dog-eared. Curious to see what a man—
demon
—like Gideon might find so interesting, Maggie flipped the book open to the first marked page. Balancing the book in one hand, she crossed the room and pushed the button on the TreadClimber. As the machine started up, she paused. Glancing from the book in her hands to the TreadClimber and back, Maggie recalled all the art supplies in the main dining room. And she suffered a pang of guilt.