“Deal,” she chirped, grinning like that had been her goal all along. It probably had been. Frustrating woman. “I can call the school first thing in the morning. I won’t tell my supervisor where I am,” she added when he opened his mouth to object. “We could go to my house tonight, grab a few things and be out of there quickly. They won’t even know we were there.”
He heaved a defeated sigh. “You can use my phone tonight. We’ll go to your place tomorrow.”
Whirling around, she hurried to the door as if worried he might change his mind if she lingered.
But at the door, she paused, turning back. “Thank you, Gideon,” she said. And then she stepped out into the foyer and disappeared from sight. The sound of her footsteps faded as she ascended the grand staircase.
Like a brick upside the head, Gideon realized what had happened. He’d just been played. She’d come in all soft and pleading. So very different from how she’d behaved before. He should have been on his guard. Hell, he had been. And she’d still gotten around him. She’d identified what he’d wanted most, for her not to ask about his obvious aversion to touching, and used it to distract him, used it to get her way.
An admiring breath hissed from him as he sprawled onto the padded chair behind his desk. He braced one elbow on the armrest and balanced his chin on his thumb. Rubbing the edge of his finger thoughtfully back and forth over his lips, Gideon stared at the empty doorway.
He arched an eyebrow. The edges of his lips gradually lifted.
The little minx had no idea what she was up against.
Maggie’s internal clock woke her around six in the morning. Yawning, she rolled over and stretched, appreciating the languid rush of blood through her muscles. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, haunted by the scent of Gideon. It seeped from the pillow, and the bed itself. From the very air around her.
Her captor. The man who’d saved her—no, she corrected herself, the demon—the demon who’d saved her. She couldn’t stop thinking about him.
But determination rode her. She’d given it a lot of thought, and made up her mind last night after she’d gotten off the phone with her supervisor. She’d even wheedled a second call out of Gideon, explaining that she needed to contact Gail otherwise her friends would worry and eventually get the police involved. He’d grudgingly agreed.
Staying with Gideon, perhaps, could turn out to be a blessing in disguise. While the last thing she wanted to do was immerse herself any further into this other world, she’d be a fool to go on pretending that it didn’t exist. And an even bigger fool for not taking advantage of the situation. She wanted to survive, didn’t she? More than that, she wanted to live. A full, rich, rewarding life. Not a life spent looking over her shoulder, jumping at shadows.
And so she would convince Gideon to teach her how to fight. Somehow. She’d get him to teach her about those spells and special stones he’d referred to last night too. She’d learn how to protect herself so she never had to rely on someone else again. So she’d never be taken by surprise again.
Starting today.
After tossing back the covers, she rose and crossed to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, changed into a pair of running shorts, a sports bra and a T-shirt and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Sitting on the edge of the bed to tie her running shoes, she caught sight of something peeking out from the edge of the dust ruffle. Maggie got down on her knees and pulled a book from beneath the bed.
A Studied Compilation of Ancient Mayan Myths and Rituals.
It was an old book. Worn. As if someone had been using it regularly as a point of reference. Several pages were dog-eared. Curious to see what a man—demon—like Gideon might find so interesting, Maggie flipped the book open to the first marked page. Balancing the book in one hand, she crossed the room and pushed the button on the TreadClimber. As the machine started up, she paused. Glancing from the book in her hands to the TreadClimber and back, Maggie recalled all the art supplies in the main dining room. And she suffered a pang of guilt.
He’d asked her what she liked to do. She’d mentioned that she liked to paint. Then, mindful of that last ten pounds she never quite managed to lose no matter how much she worked out or starved herself, she also told him that she often went to the gym in the morning before she went to work. Later that very morning, Gideon had directed her to the dining room, now empty but for an easel, a pile of canvases of varying sizes, and a small work table holding a vast array of paints and brushes. The curtains had been thrown wide to let in a flood of sunshine. Later that night, when she’d returned to her—his—room, she’d discovered the corner of the massive bedroom filled with a hodgepodge of exercise equipment, and a stack of exercise wear and running shoes on the foot of the bed.