While it was true he’d been deliberately avoiding her questions—deny it all he wanted, she wasn’t an idiot—he’d gone out of his way to make sure she had every comfort. And here she was, blatantly invading his privacy. She nibbled her lip and debated, for all of half a second, over putting the book back where she’d found it.
Squaring her shoulders, telling herself it was just a harmless book, she propped it in the media holder. After climbing onto the machine, she began reading that first dog-eared page.
The Amulet of the Gods.
Nearly two hours later, showered and dressed, she headed down the hall in search of her host. The Amulet of the Gods. If the book had been any indication, Gideon appeared to be obsessed with the thing. Notes lined the pages, some sort of code, or words written in a language she’d never seen before, she couldn’t quite tell. Shoved haphazardly throughout the book had been numerous scraps of papers, written in the same elusive text. Elegant script had transcribed page after page of information. There were also sketches. Rough, but quite detailed all the same. And always of the same theme. Centered around the same piece of ancient jewelry. It looked like a heavy piece, gold inlaid with rough-cut rubies. Presumably the amulet itself.
The question was, why was Gideon so focused on this one talisman?
She came to the end of the hallway and stopped in front of the door she’d seen Gideon go into last night. She didn’t know for sure she’d find him here, had no reason to believe this was where he’d been staying, other than her own instinct. Easing the door open, she peered into the shadows. The drapes were drawn, but not tightly. Slivers of light forced their way in through moth-eaten drapes, determined to chase away the gloom.
Soft snoring came from the huge, antique-looking four-poster bed on the far wall.
Unable to resist, she tiptoed across the room. Halfway to the bed, she paused and glanced around, frowning. The only thing not covered in massive, dingy dustcloths was the bed. Everything else wore a layer of grime and cobwebs. He’d given up his room for her. And now he was sleeping here. In this neglected mess. Because of her.
Feeling herself softening toward this puzzle of a man/demon despite her earlier resolve to look out for number one, she crept closer to the bed.
Gideon lay sprawled on his stomach. A pillow was clutched tight beneath one arm at his side. Another was bunched beneath his head. The very corner of a sheet was twisted around his hips—very low on his very naked hips—and partially covered one leg. The rest of his mouthwatering, golden-skinned body was bare. Naked all but for that hammered silver cuff and a thin chain around his neck.
His arms bore extensive tattoos, but the light was too dim to get a decent look at them. The dim light and the dark tattoos, however, couldn’t hide the ridges of his powerful, bunched muscles.
Nor did they hide the hideous scars slashing their way over his shoulder blades.
It took her a long moment of study to finally realize what they were, those scars. They were from where his wings had been removed. Viciously, brutally, by the looks of them. She clutched her throat, resisting the urge to cry in sympathy.
Oh, my poor Gideon.
Forcing her gaze away from the stark evidence of his origin lest she give in to the urge to cry after all, she surveyed the rest of his body. She’d like to pretend that she looked at him with the frank appreciation of an artist. But she couldn’t lie to herself. Whatever she felt, it had nothing to do with an artist’s eye. What she felt was a purely feminine attraction for a very fine masculine form. Defined muscles roped his broad back, dipping down to a trim waist and the upper curve of firm buttocks. A light, golden dusting of hair covered his powerful bare legs. Even his feet were sexy. Was there an inch of this man she wouldn’t mind nibbling on?
Her greedy gaze skimmed over him once again, head to toe.
Nope. Not one single inch.
Maggie stepped up to the side of the bed. Sunlight struggled through cloud cover and, for a few minutes, it seemed to be winning. The light broke free, illuminating his face for a few moments. Dark lashes rested upon his lean cheekbones. A hint of blond stubble covered his strong jaw. His wildly mussed hair shone bright in the light, a lock of it falling across his forehead.
He looked so peaceful. Like the angel he must have once been. Her heart fluttered in her chest.
With the light as it was, she could see the rough patch of pink skin on his side. A fairly recent wound. A huge one. A wound that would have likely killed a human. One that had left the golden perfection of his skin puckered and marred with pearl-pink scar tissue. Carefully, praying he wasn’t ticklish, she reached out to touch the rippled scar.
As her fingers connected with his warm flesh, she froze. Just like that, the world around her dimmed and slid out of focus.