Page 20 of Never Been Gargoyled (Harmony Glen #4)

Dazy

I sank into the flower-scented bath Feydin had prepared, letting the warm water ease the aches from my sore body. The wine made me feel floaty, and the croissant was perfect, sweet and delicate and full of chocolaty goodness. Everything about this moment felt like a dream.

He'd done all this for me. Flower petals floated around me like tiny stars, and candles flickered on every surface. Even my book waited on the small table, though I was too overwhelmed to read.

Nobody had ever taken care of me like this. Not romantically, anyway. The men I'd dated before had been more interested in what I could do for them than what they could do for me.

But Feydin was different. He noticed things. He paid attention to what made me happy and then went out of his way to provide it.

I stayed in the bath until my fingers pruned and the water started to cool. When I finally got out, I felt more human again. More ready to face whatever came next.

Dressed in my softest top and shorts, I found Feydin in the library, surrounded by books and papers. He looked up when I entered, his expression immediately concerned.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“Much. Thank you for—” I gestured vaguely toward the stairs. “All of that. It was exactly what I needed.”

“Good.” He set down the book he'd been reading. “I've been thinking about our next steps.”

“And?”

“I spoke with a colleague who had some suggestions. We need to search the estate for any letters Rebecca might have sent to Helga. If she saved them, it would prove Helga knew about Rebecca's attempts to contact her, that she was still alive and able to inherit.”

“That would help our case?”

“It could. If Helga received those letters and still chose to leave everything to you, it strengthens the argument that her will reflects her true intentions.”

I perked up. “Where do we start looking?”

“Anywhere Helga might have kept important papers. Her bedroom, this library, whatever area she might’ve used as an office.”

“There's a desk in her bedroom. And filing cabinets in the basement.”

“Awesome. We’ll start looking tomorrow.” He studied my face. “You look too tired to tackle that now.”

He was right, but I felt energized by having a plan. This was something concrete we could do instead of sitting around, waiting for bad news.

“Actually, I'm feeling better. More hopeful.” I moved closer to where he sat behind the big oak desk. “Thank you for giving me something to fight for.”

“You don't need to thank me for that.”

“Yes, I do. You could’ve told me to give up, that Rebecca's claim was too strong. Instead, you're helping me find a way to keep this place.”

“Because it's yours,” he said simply. “Because you belong here.”

The certainty in his voice made my heart skip. “You really believe that?”

“I know it.”

I leaned against the edge of the desk, close enough to see the silver flecks in his gray eyes. “What gave you your first clue?”

“The way you looked at the gardens. Not just seeing the weeds and overgrowth, but imagining what they could be with love and attention.”

“And?”

“The way you light up when something starts to bloom.”

“You do notice a lot of things.”

“About you, yes.”

Heat filled my face. “Why?”

He was quiet for a long moment, and I thought he might not answer. Then he said, “Because you fascinate me. ”

“I fascinate you.” I wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

“Everything about you. Your laugh, the way you savor a pastry, the way you get excited about compost.”

“Hey, compost is important.”

“See? Fascinating.”

I laughed, and something shifted in his expression. His eyes darkened, and he focused on my mouth.

“Dazy,” he said, his voice rough.

“Yes?” My voice quavered.

Instead of answering, he stood and moved around the desk toward me. I stayed where I was, my pulse surging up into my throat as he approached.

“I want to kiss you,” he said when he was close enough to touch.

“Okay,” I whispered.

His hands came up to frame my face. When his lips met mine, it was nothing like the tentative kisses we'd shared before. This was deep and desperate, and it made my knees weak.

I kissed him back, my hands fisting in his shirt. He tasted like mint and promises, and I wanted more.

Much more.

He must have felt the same way because suddenly his hands were at my waist, lifting me onto the edge of the desk. Papers scattered, but neither of us cared.

“Is this okay?” he asked against my lips.

“More than okay.”

He kissed me again, deeper this time, his hands threading through my hair. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he made a sound that was part growl, part groan.

“Dazy,” he breathed, trailing kisses down my throat.

“Don't stop.” I tipped my head back to give him better access.

His mouth moved lower, finding the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. When he sucked gently, I gasped and arched against him.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured against my skin.

I wanted to tell him he was beautiful too, but words seemed impossible when he was touching me like this. Instead, I pulled his face back up to mine and kissed him with everything I had.

He responded by sweeping his wing across the desk, sending books and papers flying. The sound made me laugh, which made him smile against my mouth.

“Impatient?” I teased.

“Desperate.” He laid me back on the now-clear surface.

The oak was cool against my back, a contrast to the heat building between us. He hovered over me, his eyes asking permission for what might come next.

“Yes,” I said before he could ask.

His hands found the hem of my top, pushing it up slowly. When his mouth followed the path his hands had taken, I thought I might die from the pleasure of it.

“Feydin,” I gasped when he reached the soft skin below my ribs.

“I want to taste you.” Thick want filled his voice. “All of you.”

Heat pooled low in my belly. “Please.”

He kissed his way down my belly, his hands gentle as they pulled my shorts over my hips and lower. When his fingers found the hem of my underwear, I lifted my hips to help him remove them.

He spread my thighs wide and crawled between them, looking up one final time as if he worried I’d deny him this pleasure now.

“Yes,” I breathed.

The first touch of his tongue made me cry out. He was thorough and patient, learning what made me gasp and what made me arch off the desk. His hands held my hips steady as he worked, his mouth doing things that made stars explode behind my eyelids.

“Oh god, Feydin,” I panted, my hands gripping the edge of the desk.

He hummed against me, the vibration sending me higher. I was close, so close, trembling on the edge of something incredible?—

Someone banged on the door.

We both froze.

“Ignore it,” Feydin mumbled against my inner thigh.

They banged again. “Hello?” they shouted. “Anyone there?”

“They're not going away.” The last thing I wanted was for Feydin to stop.

He lifted his head, his hair mussed and his eyes dark with desire. “They will if we wait long enough.”

They slammed their fist on the door again, making it rattle. “Ms. Osborne? Legal courier. I need a signature. ”

My stomach dropped. “Legal courier.”

Feydin's expression changed, desire replaced by protective anger.

“Stay here.” He helped me sit up.

“No way.” I was already pulling my clothes back into place. “Whatever this is, we face it together.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he eased me off the desk and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

“How do I look?” I asked, trying to smooth my own hair.

“Like you've been thoroughly kissed.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. “It’s that obvious?”

“Only to me.” He touched my face gently. “Are you ready for this?”

No. I wanted to go back to five minutes ago when the biggest problem I had was where to put my hands while Feydin worked magic between my thighs.

“I am,” I lied, knowing very well what I’d receive when I opened that door.

We walked there together, Feydin's hand warm on my lower back. Through the frosted glass side panel, I could see the silhouette of someone waiting.

I opened the door to find a young man in a courier uniform, a clipboard in hand.

“Dazy Osborne?” he asked.

“That's me.”

“I have legal documents for you. I need your signature here.” He held out the clipboard and a thick envelope .

My hands shook as I signed my name. The envelope felt heavy, official, and ominous.

“Have a good evening,” he said, already heading back to his vehicle.

I closed the door and leaned against it, staring at the envelope in my hands.

“I don’t want to open it,” I said.

“I don’t blame you.” Feydin's voice was grim.

I tore open the envelope and pulled out the papers inside. The letterhead made my heart sink: Bland, Kingsley & Franks, LLP.

“Rebecca's lawyers,” I whispered.

“Yup.”

I skimmed the first page, the legal language making my head spin. But certain phrases jumped out at me: temporary restraining order , cease and desist , property modifications .

“They want me to stop all work on the estate,” I said, my voice hollow. “No more renovations, no more garden work, nothing until the court makes a decision.”

Feydin took the papers from me, his jaw tight as he read. “This is too much. It’s harassment. They're trying to intimidate you into giving up.”

“Is it legal?”

“Probably. But it's also aggressive. They're not confident in their case if they're resorting to tactics like this.”

I slumped against the door. “Should I stop working on the place I might lose anyway?”

“No,” Feydin said firmly. “We fight this. And we find those letters. ”

His determination was infectious. Looking at him now, his hair still messed from our encounter in the library, and his eyes fierce, I realized something that should have terrified me.

I was falling in love with him.

Not just attracted to him or grateful for his help. Actually, completely falling in love with my grumpy gargoyle lawyer who made me flower baths and defended my dreams like they were his own.

“Okay,” I said. “We fight.”

“Together,” he said.

“Together.”

For the first time since this whole mess started, I believed we might actually win.