Page 23 of Bumpy, the Gargoyle Slayer

“Coco? Seriously?” Her wide blue eyes blow wider. “I… wow. A girl could get used to being your fake girlfriend.”

I just smile and refrain from voicing my thoughts: that’s what I’m hoping. And though I wish I wasn’t thinking that particular line of idiocy, each hour I spend with the slayer makes the statement all the truer.

I’ll just blame my desires on loneliness. It’s nice having such a lively female living with me.

It’s nice having a girlfriend, fake or not.

CHAPTER 7

Bunny

The swimsuit the housekeeper lent me is far too big, but I don’t think Alain notices. He sits in the corner of the covered rooftop, pretending to do some paperwork at the small table while I divest myself of his enormous silk robe that puddles on the tile floor. Still, even though he doesn’t look directly at me, I know he’s watching. I feel his eyes on me like lasers.

Monster. He’s worse than a vampire, really. What he does to my blood is unholy.

It’s nearly dinner and my body is still pulsing from last night’s orgasm… and I need another one, which is one more reason that I need to set some firmer boundaries between us. It’s not a good idea to fall under gargoyle’s spell, not for me, and not for the slayer that I should be. What would my tutelary say if he knew Alain had his head between my legs and that I loved it?

No, fake girlfriends need to stay fake, benefits not included.

Diving into the cool depths doesn’t help. The water strokes over my skin like Alain’s hands—sensual, and the last thing my failing restraint needs.

After touching bottom, I spring into laps across the Olympic size pool. Through the glass walls, I spot the amazing views of the New York skyline every time I turn my head to breathe. With the gloaming settling, lights flicker on throughout apartments and at street level. The moon morphs into visibility, making the vista truly magical.

I have no idea how I’m going to return to my normal life after playing house with the billionaire… a billionaire gargoyle who knows all the best tricks for making me come.

The laps steal my breath until my body takes over with its own rhythm, pushing and stretching my muscles. I’ve exercised regularly ever since my parents put my first stake in my hand. I’ve always known what my duty would be. I’ve trained for it forever. I’m lucky, actually, that no one insisted that I start slaying until now.

I lose track of time, and the next thing I know, Alain squats down in front of the lane. “I hate to cut short your enjoyment of the pool, but we’ve only got an hour to reservation. I’ll have someone hold the table if we run a tad late, but I don’t want to lose peak photographer time.”

Right. It’s the whole reason I’m enjoying the billionaire lifestyle.

The reminder has me scurrying into the enormous soft towel he holds open for me before folding me inside like a treasured burrito. For a few seconds, I get lost in his embrace, wishing it could somehow be real, before he pulls away.

“We should get moving.”

Of course. Fake date to prep for.

After a quick trip into the shower to rinse off the chlorine, or salt, or whatever the chemicals are in the pool, I submit myself to the hair-nazi. My reflection afterward says the pain was worth it. My hair is shiny and bouncy. The makeup artist tinted my lips with a soft red gloss, and widened my eyes with an application of black mascara. Otherwise, the rest of me is just me.

That’s what money pays for. The artist knew enough to avoid a plastic mannequin look.

But it’s the contents of the Coco garment bag that fills me with so many twisted emotions that I can’t make them out. The suit inside the teal bag is an elegant cream with pale-aqua-colored stripes designed for a muted plaid effect. The skirt has a single kick-pleat and will likely hovers only a few inches below my underwear. Beneath the jacket, I find a matching aqua silk shell, and beneath that, a bra and thong designed with whisps of cream lace. In an attached drawstring bag, the shoes are a darker aqua with a silver stiletto heel. The purse is an almost-matching wristlet, great for fighting vampires since it won’t weight me down and might even be used as a cudgel.

Not that I’m going to fight vampires tonight. Obviously not. And I’m not going to keep the clothing after our fake relationship ends, either. Of course not. But still…

Ignoring the sinking feeling rushing through me, I pull a velvet bag from the front pocket of the garment bag. Ropes of pearls fall out into my hand. Two pearl earrings follow. I can see from the glow that they’re expensive, as well as tasteful.

And when I slip it all on and look in the mirror, I see an upscale version of me staring back, like I’ve been perfected and smoothed, matured and made confident.

But it all comes together as I descend the grand staircase to find Alain gaping up at me. His eyes glow bright amber. “You’re beautiful, Bumps.”

Twirling once I reach bottom so that he can see the full breadth of what his money buys, I accidentally stumble into him. Alain drags me against his length, clutching my body to his before he swears under his breath and pushes me gently from him.

“You slay me, Bumps,” he whispers softly.

“Can’t. You’re stone,” I remind him, happiness fluttering up inside me.

“Really? Because except for my cock, I feel rather slushy.”