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“Yes?”

“That was very fun, and I think we should do it again. Soon.”

I stare at her. Then, despite everything, I laugh. A full, helpless laugh that echoes through the hallway.

April beams at me.

And I realize something else.

Something far more alarming than the fact that I have transformed without her touch.

I am lying on the floor of the house that has been my prison for one hundred and forty-three years, naked as the day I was born. Holding a woman who has turned my entire existence upside down.

And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I am not thinking about how desperately I want to escape.

I am thinking about how desperately I want to stay.

With her.

chapter

ten

April

It turns out that fear is a terrible long-term strategy for breaking a curse.

Not that we haven’t considered it.

Gabriel suggested we could probably eliminate the possibility of me falling from a ladder again if I simply stopped climbing them.

I suggested that perhaps we could recreate his moment of terror by having me pretend to fall.

He informed me that if I so much as looked at another ladder, he would personally chop it into firewood. Which seemed a little extreme. Especially since the ladder in question was aluminum.

We’ve settled on the theory that strong emotions are the key. And we’ve been testing that theory.

Thoroughly.

Mostly by kissing. And, on several very memorable occasions, by doing considerably more than kissing.

For science, obviously.

Okay, that’s probably a lie and it has far more to do with my growing feelings for my grumpy gargoyle man. But for now I shall pretend it is all for science and for his freedom.

It’s been nine days since Gabriel caught me, and I’ve learned several interesting things. First, kissing him is considerably more enjoyable than burning sage. Second, Gabriel Winchester is an excellent kisser. He is also excellent at a number of other things I’m not going to list, because I’d like to keep my blood pressure in a healthy range. And perhaps my panties dry.

Third, the man has apparently decided that if he’s going to experience the modern world, he should begin with my mouth. And work his way down.

I’m not complaining. In fact, I’m doing the opposite of complaining. I’m practically campaigning for additional research.

The problem is that it doesn’t always work. Sometimes he turns human before I even touch him.

Other times, I have to put my hands on his stone face and wait.

And sometimes he turns back to granite in the middle of a perfectly good make-out session.

Which is inconvenient. And occasionally painful. Nobody warns you about the possibility of kissing a man who suddenly develops the consistency of a kitchen countertop.