Page 16 of Bumpy, the Gargoyle Slayer

“You’re… an asshole.” But her voice cracks.

So cute, how she pretends to be invincible.

“An ancient asshole, made of stone. You’re young and so breakable that it makes me shudder to think what a monster could do to you.”

Like me, for instance, if she sat on my cock. I could definitely break her in a whole bunch of pleasurable ways.

No. Bad, Alain. Fake girlfriend. No stretching pussy.

Sometimes, I hate my better self.

“Then why are you researching ways to kill me?”

“I just picked up the book to mess with you,” I admit, centering my thoughts back on her and away from how much I want to do unspeakable things to her.

“Aren’t you a peach? But speaking of killing, how would a slayer go about killing a gargoyle? Just for information’s sake, of course.” She sends me an extra-sweet smile and bats her lashes like they’re trying to lift a plane off the runway.

With a sigh, I rise to my feet, towering over her. To her credit, she doesn’t back up, though a tremor sneaks over her limbs as if she has to consciously resist the movement. I extend my arm.

So absolutely adorable.

“Let me escort you to supper, Bumps. No killing at the table, agreed?”

She swallows hard before wrapping her hand around my arm. It’s progress of a different kind.

Once in the dining room, after I seat her caddy-corner to me at the immensely long table, she says, “When I went looking for my messenger bag, I ran into Mrs. Tightass at the bottom of the stairs. She wouldn’t let me near the doors.”

“A slayer like you couldn’t take her?” Mrs. Dumay is sixty, if she’s a day.

“I don’t go around slaying humans, you know. That’s against the rules. Am I your prisoner?”

“Good to know you care about rules, and no, you’re not a prisoner. I insist upon knowing your whereabouts, but otherwise, you may come and go as you like, providing you remember the reason for this farce. Plus,” I add, as I drop into my chair, “you should be aware that billionaire fake boyfriends are apt to be protective. Keep that in mind before you launch yourself towards more trouble.”

She shoots me a quick smile that has me wanting to fall to my knees, so I unfold my napkin to keep my hands busy and off her.

But when our knees brush, my cock pulses.

I am making such a mistake.

“If you’re interested in my Kind, there’s a book on gargoyles in the library,” I say after a few heartbeats, in a further fit of insanity.

Of course, she’s going to read it. Know thy enemy and all that. My first course of action upon returning home was to leave it prominently displayed on the coffee table between the couches so that she’d find it. Within, she’ll come across a paragraph that will tell her how to kill me. I’m not sure why I’m giving her the knowledge. It just seems… fair… somehow.

After all, it would take little effort for me to crush her bones into dust. She should have some hope of doing me in.

“Oh.” She blinks those lashes again, rocking my world. “You’d trust me with that?”

“No better way to make someone trustworthy than to offer her a way to earn that trust.”

More lash blinking. “Right? Well, okay. I’ll, um, read the book. But back to why I wanted to go out. I left my purse in the car.”

Here’s the tricky part. “You didn’t. I have it.”

“What, you’re stealing from me? You’re suddenly in need of the pennies that line the bottom of the bag?”

“I needed to check for weapons that could be used against my staff. You’re enchanting, Bumps, but I’m not a fool.”

I expect rage. I expect her to lash out, get to her feet, and storm from the room.