Chapter 8 #2
I’m just on the edge of sleep when the covers lift and the mattress dips behind me. My eyes snap open. Is Gideon… getting into bed with me?
The general shifting of the mattress and the “getting settled” rustling noises would indicate yes.
I turn over and sit up. “Dude, what are you… do… ing?” He’s lying on his back, one arm behind his head, his naked chest on display. Frankly, I’m going to congratulate myself for not drooling.
I’m not, right?
No. It’s cool.
“Going to sleep,” he says, like I’m an idiot to even ask. “I didn’t think you’d want to be alone tonight.”
Aww. My whole body just melts into a puddle of goo.
No. Wait. There’s something about this that’s not right.
Boundaries! That’s it.
“That’s sweet, but you can’t just climb into bed with me, Gideon. That crosses a great big fat line.”
“If I was sleeping in the guest room, you’d still be alone,” he points out in a reasonable tone. “And this bed is huge. You haven’t even noticed the pillow between us.”
I look down, and nope, I hadn’t noticed, but he’s put one of my extra pillows in the center of the king-size bed. My resolve wavers.
“It’s still creepy,” I declare, “even if you’re trying to be thoughtful.”
He sighs. “Would it still be creepy if I’d done it to make sure you didn’t throw up in your sleep and choke on your own vomit?”
“Why would I throw up in my sleep? I’m not dru—” My eyes go wide. “No way! You slept in my bed when I was drunk and unconscious? Gideon, that’s creepy!”
“Choking on vomit was a concern, remember? And anyway, your guest room bed is tiny. How were Andrew and I supposed to share that?”
I scrub my hands over my face. I can’t believe I slept a whole night with Gideon in my bed. I can’t believe he doesn’t see why this is a problem.
“You’re missing the point,” I snap. “It’s not okay for you to decide we’re sharing a bed without asking me first. It’s definitely not okay for you to sleep in my bed while I’m unconscious and unable to defend myself!”
He sits up. “Defend yourself? From me? I’d never hurt you.” There’s a surprised tremor in his voice.
“Gideon, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re invading my personal space while I’m vulnerable. You can’t do that without permission.”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” His eyes open again, and his remorse is clear. “I hadn’t thought of it from that perspective, and that was wrong.”
“Thank you.” I’m actually pleasantly surprised that he’s apologized. His hotness factor just multiplied about a thousand times, something that my dick definitely notices. “For what it’s worth, I get that your intentions were good, and I appreciate you thinking about my well-being.”
He flips back the covers. “I’ll go sleep in the guest room.”
“No.” I sigh and lie down. “I know you’re here now. And you’re right, this bed is big enough that we’ll never even come into contact. Plus I stripped the bed in the guest room after that night and haven’t made it up again.” Or washed those sheets, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Are you sure?” He hesitates. It makes me like him more.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
I feel him moving around as he settles in again, but I resolutely don’t look over. His presence, even with nearly two feet of space and a pillow between us, fills the bed—and my senses. I can’t believe I never knew he was there that time, even if I was blind drunk and unconscious.
This is going to be a long night.
I was wrong.
As I open my eyes almost six hours later, I marvel over what a great sleep I had. Something about the sound of Gideon breathing and his overwhelming, protective presence was incredibly soothing.
I roll onto my side and study him. He’s on his back, which gives me a fantastic view of his profile.
It’s like he was chiseled from stone, his face is so perfect.
Sleep has relaxed his features, and he’s even more attractive—still severe-looking, but softer.
More vulnerable. True to his word, he’s still on his side of the bed and the pillow is in place between us.
A tiny part of me—the part that wants to lick him all over—is disappointed about that.
I’m glad he’s still asleep, though, because this gives me the opportunity to look at him.
I rise up onto my elbow and take in the glory that is his naked chest. Demons are naturally more muscular than other species—well, more bulkily muscled.
Most shifters have a lot of muscle, but it’s leaner.
Demons tend to be built broader, and Gideon seems to take very good care of himself. He’s ripped, even for a demon.
My mind wanders a little as I admire the dips and planes and ridges of his gorgeous, furry chest. Gideon’s an enigma.
My online searches on him got a lot of hits, even if there was little actual information.
He keeps his private life pretty quiet, and the combination of that secrecy plus his looks and professional reputation drive the team’s fanboys wild.
The girls too, I imagine, but the one thing he never even tried to keep secret is his preference for men.
There’s a lot of gushing over him in the forums and some pretty racy fan fic.
What I actually know about him is limited.
He’s somewhere between a hundred and fifty and two hundred years old. His exact age is unclear.
He was born and grew up in Europe, then came to the US when he was appointed to this team—about forty or fifty years ago.
Prior to that, he worked in investigative offices in five different countries.
His family is important. I don’t know the exact details—I never really looked into it. But they’re prominent amongst demons.
He’s seriously good at his job, although his interpersonal skills can be lacking sometimes.
He’s empathetic enough to have realized that I didn’t want to be alone last night and caring enough to have come over to stay with me.
He’s an insanely good fuck.
“Are you done ogling me?”
And he’s awake and aware that I’m staring at him like a creeper.
“I’m not actually looking at you,” I say loftily, my cheeks burning. “I was staring into space and thinking. You just happen to be in my line of vision.”
His dirty chuckle tells me he’s not buying it. Unintentionally, I look at his face.
He’s smiling. The soft, amused expression transforms him, and my lips part in shocked wonder.
Would he murder me if I kissed him?
Probably.
And it would be a baaaaaaad idea. We’re leaving the past behind us. I have to work with him. He doesn’t want a relationship—not with me, anyway.
Bad idea.
Stop thinking about it, Sam.
“What are you thinking about now?” he asks in that rumbly morning voice that makes my morning wood just a little bit woodier. Can he read my mind? Fuck, I hope not.
“Uh, just that it’s time to get up. Big day today!” Crap. It is a big day. They’re going to try to reverse the sorcery that makes me seem human, and nobody knows what will happen or even if it will work.
That kills my erection.
I start to throw back the covers, but Gideon’s hand shoots out and captures my wrist.
“Sam… it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be fine.” The firm, definite statement is reassuring. I turn back to him as he sits up.
“Do you really think so?”
He nods. “Yes. Even if something doesn’t go as planned, we will fix it.
You’re going to be fine. ” He leans in, and before I realize what he’s doing, he’s planted a kiss on my mouth.
There’s no tongue, but he lingers a little, and when he pulls back, I suck in a shaky breath.
“I promise,” he whispers, his face still only inches from mine.
I nod. “Okay.”
And I feel better.