Jonah’s jaw dropped. Literally.

As difficult as it was, Gage forced himself to sit still. To not do anything that would destroy the momentum of the conversation. Micki had held on to this story for ten years. She’d allowed herself to be thought of as a fuckup and a sellout for ten miserable years.

To protect her brother.

Jonah’s head snapped to his mother. “I swear to you, I didn’t do it. I got her out of there. Phil Flynn is a scumbag. He threatens people on behalf of his clients.”

Micki nodded. “He told me he had a video of Jonah coming out of the room.” She turned back to Jonah. “He does. I’ve seen it.”

“That doesn’t prove squat,” Reid said.

“And DNA.”

The room went silent. Yeah, total showstopper, that one.

Jonah’s head lopped forward. “What?”

Now this was getting crazy. If Jonah hadn’t touched that girl, how the hell did Phil have his DNA? That, or Phil had been bluffing.

Micki flicked her nails over her face. “She scratched you on the cheek. Remember?”

“Yeah, but I was trying to help her. It’s not like I…”

He waved a hand. No need to elaborate on that one.

“Phil said her parents had a rape kit done. That they found DNA under her nails, but couldn’t match it to anyone. He said he could get the sheriff to test your DNA and they’d find a match. That you’d go to jail for rape.”

Jonah was out of his chair, sending it scraping across the floor as he stormed the length of the kitchen. “Micki! Come on. You know the truth! Why did you let this guy do this?”

She flinched and her shoulders curled in, her head dipping. Jesus, this poor girl.

As much as Gage didn’t want to get into family business, Micki had asked him to stay and right now, the way she’d recoiled from Jonah yelling at her, she needed an ally. Someone to draw Jonah’s fire.

“Hang on,” Gage said, angling his body so he could see Jonah. “Let’s think about this. You guys were young. I don’t care what anyone says, eighteen is still a kid. And Phil Flynn is a master at what he does. It’s not a stretch that he could convince a kid that her brother, her twin, would get locked up. Particularly when he has the backing of a wealthy and influential banker, a video and DNA.”

Micki brought her head up, stared at Gage for a few seconds, the look in her eyes something akin to gratitude and relief. Someone believed her. Believed in her.

And Gage knew the power of that. Had thrived on it for years.

“He terrified me,” Micki said. “I knew Jonah didn’t hurt that girl, but he had the video and the DNA. He told me to look up a couple of rape cases. He gave me actual names. So I ran home and researched them. They were cases where guys had been convicted on less evidence.” She turned to Jonah, gripped his arm. “I was afraid for you. Then, after being in Vegas awhile, I found out there’s no statute of limitations on rape in North Carolina. If Phil decided to, he could make a case today and you’d go to prison. Back then, I panicked. I saw a way out for you. For both of us really, because I knew what went on in that bedroom and I didn’t report it. I was afraid we’d both go to jail. Just for knowing about it. That’s what he told me.”

“My God,” Miss Joan said. “That bastard.”

Micki ignored her mother and kept her eyes on Jonah. “I went to Vegas. To keep our secret.”

Jonah had stopped his pacing, but his body still moved. Swaying from side to side, then back and forth. Constant motion. He folded his arms, then dropped them again.

He didn’t know what the hell to do with himself.

Even Reid was speechless.

And that was saying something.

Finally, Jonah walked to the door, his steps quick and stomping and…pissy. He paused and looked out the window while Micki shifted in her chair to face her brother.

“Jonah—”

His hand flew up. “Just…stop. Let me think.”

“Calm down,” Reid said. “Everyone take a second here.”

Gage nodded. They needed to eliminate the emotion. “He’s right. Let’s break this down and figure out how to get rid of this so-called evidence. We know Jonah didn’t do anything wrong. This girl. The victim? Who is she?”

Jonah shook his head. “Tessa. Jesus Christ.”

“Jonah!” Miss Joan said.

“I’m sorry, Mom, but this is…” He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know what this is. All these years, Micki has been in Vegas and we could have taken care of it.”

“Look, guys. I’m an outsider here.”

“You’re not an outsider,” Reid snapped. “Shut up with that and say what you’re thinking.”

Gage met his eye. “Thank you, but I’m not family. My perspective is different. I don’t have the connection you do. Jonah, I’d suggest getting a lawyer. You didn’t do anything wrong, but if Flynn showed up here, he’s not playing. He’s got an ace in his pocket.”

Micki grunted. “He probably bribed a judge.”

“Oh, my God,” Miss Joan said, her strangled voice barely above a whisper.

Gage touched her arm. This woman had treated him as her own. The least he could do was give her some damned hope that her son wouldn’t spend the next twenty years in prison. “It’ll be okay. Jonah is innocent and he has the resources to hire attorneys. A good lawyer makes this go away. No fuss, no muss.”

“All that time.” Miss Joan shook her head. “My girl was gone all that time.”

Jonah looked back at his mother, his face a cross between tight anger and pinched torture. “Because of me.”

“No,” Micki said. “Not because of you. Because I was too terrified to stand up to Phil. This is on me. I just can’t do it anymore. I want my life back.”

Hours later, Gage sat at the piano in his living room—Miss Joan’s living room actually. He was just the renter. Still, the place felt homey and warm and…comfortable. Like Miss Joan. In this house, there was no pressure. Here, he didn’t worry about all the things he should be doing for everyone else.

His sole purpose now revolved around tinkering with piano keys until he worked out the song in his head.

His mother had given piano lessons for years and had forced enough of them on him that he’d learned to read music and could actually put a song together. Memories of her yelling at him from the kitchen about wrong notes filled his mind and he couldn’t help smiling.

Life had been simpler back then. Before he’d grown into his feet and became the problem solver. The mediator between his sisters, the one who dealt with bullies at school and flat tires and bum tractor engines.

As much as he wanted to blame his father for putting the pressure on him, he couldn’t.

Like Micki, he understood the power of the mind. That tricky bastard could make one believe anything.

The doorbell rang and he glanced up. Spotted Micki standing in front of the glass plane.

God help him.

She’d been tearing at his thoughts since he left Tupelo Hill and that crazy family meeting. Hell, since she showed up two days ago. Considering the horny male he was, being alone with her in his house—in the house she grew up in—wouldn’t evolve into anything honorable.

Except, there she stood, peering through the glass, and he couldn’t leave her there. Not after what she’d been through today. Something brought her to his door and he might as well find out what.

He wanted this girl. Friendship with Reid be damned.

He met her gaze as he walked and something sparked in her hazel eyes. The rest of her features remained neutral. No smile, no tilt of her head, no expression at all.

Micki, Micki, Micki.

Without a doubt, she’d always keep him guessing.

He swung the door open and a blast of forty-five-degree air sent the hairs on his arms to full attention.

“Hi,” she said, her eyes raking over his T-shirt, gym shorts and bare feet.

He stepped back and waved her in. “Hi, yourself. Get out of the cold.”

Obviously once again unprepared for the weather, she wore a black jean jacket, a plaid scarf, black leggings, and a white gauzy shirt. The edge of the scarf hung across her chest landing—you guessed it—right above her tits and extremely protruding nipples.

When exactly had he gotten laid last?

Crap. Not a break to be had with this Steele bunch.

She stepped across his threshold, bringing the scent of fresh air and powder with her, and he reminded himself to keep his mitts to himself.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said.

“No prob. You need a heavier jacket, though.”

“I realized that on the ride over.”

“You rode here?”

“I stole Jonah’s bike again.”

Gage laughed. “I hope you at least told him this time.”

“I did. I texted him after I left. Otherwise, they’d all argue over who was driving me because God forbid I should ride a bike five miles.”

“They’re trying to keep you safe.”

“I know. But I’ve been alone a long time. Sometimes it feels like…smothering.”

“I get that,” he said. “Believe me.” He grabbed a pile of clean clothes off the couch and set them on the chair in the corner. “Wasn’t expecting company. Have a seat.”

She took in the room, probably recognizing her mother’s furniture. “You’re actually pretty clean for a guy.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“Is it weird living here?”

“Not at all. I was just thinking how homey it is. Your mom has that way about her. Whatever she touches.”

“My father doesn’t want to sell the house. Kind of crazy since he lives at the cabin now.” She shrugged. “I never could figure those two out.”

“Maybe you’re not meant to. Besides, I hit pay dirt with renting the place.”

She gestured at the piano. “I heard you playing that old beast. That would make my mom happy. Evie started taking lessons, but I think she quit.”

“She dabbles,” Gage said.

When he’d first moved in, he and Evie had talked about the piano and how it needed to be tuned. Which he’d arranged his first week here.

The corner of Micki’s mouth lifted. “You know more about my family than I do.”

“I doubt that.”

“What song were you working on?”

This was a question he shouldn’t answer. If he were smart, which he used to be, he’d make something up. Grab some random title from the sky. Chances were she hadn’t recognized his piss-poor version of a song she proclaimed to love.

Barely three feet from her, he met her gaze, found himself getting sucked into the green flecks and mystery behind them and he knew, as sure as shit, he couldn’t fight himself on this one. End of story.

“'Bring It On Home,’” he said.

Her eyebrows hitched up. A millimeter. Maybe half a millimeter, but he caught it. Micki, Micki, Micki. Such a puzzle.

“Play it for me,” she said.

“It’s not ready for an audience.”

“I don’t care.”

She moved to the piano, her gaze still on his. She slid the scarf from her throat, her long fingers curling into it as it glided over the silky skin of her neck.

“Please,” she said. “I love that song.”

“I know. That’s what scares the hell out of me.”

It didn’t stop him from reclaiming his spot on the piano bench, testing the keys while his mind tripped and whirled and formulated an escape plan he didn’t necessarily want.

She stood next to the piano, resting both elbows on it, and the neckline of her blouse dipped, giving him a view of a pale bra and cleavage. Micki wasn’t stacked. Not by a long shot, but everything about her worked. Small breasts, long, lean legs, narrow hips.

Twiggy, Reid had called her. The name fit and Gage imagined her in his bed, under him, on top, wherever. Didn’t matter as long as her legs were locked around him.

“So.” He ran his fingers over the keys and the cascading sound filled the room. “Why did you ride Jonah’s bike into town? Aside from needing space.”

“I wanted to thank you.”

“You could have called.”

“I could have. Should I go?”

He stopped playing. “Not if I can help it.”

Her face flushed and—yeah—another first from the stoic Micki. The girl was loosening up. Good for her.

“I couldn’t have handled that meeting alone,” she said.

“Yeah, you could.” She needed to get it through that stubborn head of hers. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. What you’ve been living with for ten years? Not a lot of people would do that.”

“Most would have the nerve to get away. Don’t you think?”

“Some maybe, but Phil groomed you, Micki. You were young and scared and he knew exactly how to bend you to his will. That makes him a predator.”

“I swear you’re straight out of a romance novel.”

That made him laugh. “Nah. I’m trained to understand human nature.”

“Oh, then I don't want to know what you think of me.”

“Sure you do. Because I think you're exceptional. All you needed today was support. I came in handy since I was the unemotional one in the room.”

She moved around the side of the piano, stood beside the bench, her body close enough that he breathed in her powdery scent. Whatever that was, he’d buy her a gallon of it.

He turned sideways, straddling the bench, his growing erection not shy about letting her know what he wanted.

Particularly when she eased onto the bench in front of him, their knees touching, eyes locked. She ran her hands over his face, and the mental war, every logical argument, vanished.

“Is this wise?” he asked.

What kind of idiot asked that question when he knew the answer?

“I doubt it,” she said. “But there are perks to being the family screwup. No one expects anything from me. And I’ve been living according to everyone else’s rules a long time. Now I want what I want.”

He hooked his hands under her thighs, brought them on top of his and slid an arm around her, boosting her up to straddle him. “You’re not a screwup.”

His erection pressed into her and she tipped her head back, let out a low moan, and he was gone. Gone, gone, gone.

“I want to feel good,” she said. “Being around you makes me feel good. Especially when you tell me I'm exceptional.” He nibbled the delicate skin on her neck. “And when you do that.”

Backing away, he kissed her, let the softness of her lips drive him further and closer to the insanity of sex with Reid's sister.

She ground herself into him and, holy shit, if she kept that up, they’d have problems.

He grabbed her cheeks, cradled her face in his rough hands. Another reminder that he had no right to her.

“Honey,” he said, “if you don’t knock that off, I won’t last too long.”

“In that case, maybe you should ditch your shorts.”

Gage smiled at her, a quick flashing grin that made something inside her go warm. This man. So hot.

And so not her type.

But she couldn’t think about that now. He wanted to be with her. At least temporarily. Whether it was all part of his hero complex—the big bad Special Forces guy helping the screwup or something more, she wouldn’t think about. Analyzing the whys of it all wouldn’t help her.

All she knew was that Gage Barber, somehow, seemed to know what she needed. Always.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on. The lifeline in turbulent waters.

What am I doing?

This world. The sanctuary. The normal. It wasn’t hers. After all the things she’d done, she didn’t deserve it.

No.

Not thinking about it.

Tonight, for once, she’d forget about Phil and secrets and denial. Tonight she’d allow herself freedom.

She squeezed her eyes closed and tightened her grip on him. Just hang on. If she could hold on to Gage, Mr. All-American-apple-pie-farm-boy, she’d be okay.

Gage patted the upper part of her butt. “Hey. You okay?”

When he made a move to back away, she held on, gripping so tight she might snap his neck.

God, she couldn’t let him see this. This desperation and weakness. Not when all she wanted was to fall into bed—with him—and start her life over.

His hand wandered higher on her back. “You’ll be all right.”

He knew. A burst of air exploded in her chest, and all that pent-up stress and anger and…emotion…sucked her under, stealing her breath. Dammit. How did her life get to be such a fucking mess?

She gripped harder, fighting the urge to run. To disappear and leave Phil and Vegas and the whole cluster behind. Just hang on. “He’ll never let me go. He won’t. And I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t know what he does. And I help him! What kind of person does that?”

He brought his hands up, latching on to her wrists, tugging at her, then tugging harder when she stayed locked on. “Honey, if you don’t let me look at you, I’ll make you do it.”

“I don’t want you to look at me.”

“Well, too bad, because I love looking at you. I look at you constantly. And I like what I see. Very much. I don’t know what this is between us. And I know you’re all twisted up. I get that. Believe me. Everyone expects us to be a certain way. Sometimes we need help. So, dump it on me. I’ll help you.”

He knew her. For a man she’d just met, he knew exactly what she needed.

Gage ran his thumbs over her cheeks and she got lost in those crystal blue eyes.

What he wanted for his future, she didn’t know, but he was a picket fence guy. He’d need a blonde, curvy wife, a herd of kids, and a minivan.

Total opposite of her.

“Micki,” he said, “stop.”

“What?”

“Thinking. Whatever it is, it isn’t good.”

He’d nailed that one. “I’ve been alone for ten years. All I do is think.”

“You’re not alone anymore.”

Then he kissed her. His lips so soft on hers, part of her cement shell broke free. She leaned in, the two of them barely touching, but the connection so electric she needed to be closer. And closer.

“You’re amazing,” she said.

“Nah. I’m just a guy who has a thing for a screwy Steele girl.”

Gage, somehow, made her laugh. Maybe she wasn't a dead loss after all. “I’m ready to start over. I feel safe here. In this house. With you. It’s…” She cradled his face in her hands and pressed. “It’s home. Finally. I’m home. Thank you.”

She didn’t want his response. Not now. Not when this spell was so potent and beautiful. She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck again, angling into his body and kissing him with every little desperate piece of herself she had.

Total slut kiss.

And she liked it.

Tongues battled, lips slammed and—oh—it was so good.

He scooped her up. Bam. Lifted her right off the bench. Strong man.

But she knew that already.

“That,” she said, “was totally hot.”

He snorted and with her lips still on his, she giggled and the moment was so light, so ridiculously silly, that she took it all in, locking it away so she’d remember. Always.

Happiness.

For that alone, she’d adore him forever.

“You know, it’s too bad the piano is an upright.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Always wanted to have sex on a piano. I might have to upgrade to a baby grand. “

“I’ll help you pay for it.”

He stopped walking. Right in the middle of the living room and pressed her against the wall.

“Jesus, that got me going. I have a picture of you bare-assed naked, spread across that thing. Waiting for me.”

Oh, the thought. “I’d love that,” she said.

He kissed her again, grinding his erection against her, and she combusted. Everything inside imploding. Balanced against the wall, she nudged him away and lifted her shirt over her head. His hands moved over her bare skin, the heat intense and perfect as he locked his gaze on her.

Then he went to work on her bra, sliding the straps off and maneuvering her so he could unclip it. And she wouldn’t think about how effortlessly he’d done that. About his experience with this sort of thing. Unlike her.

None of it mattered now.

“Put me down,” she said.

He set her down and dragged his mouth over her shoulder and his hands, those rough-skinned palms over her nipples, and the friction blew her mind.

She shoved her leggings down, but they got caught on her boots and… “Dammit!”

“How much do you like these pants?”

“Why?”

“Because if I don’t get inside you in the next ten seconds, I won't make it.”

“Tear them off.”

“Excellent.” He gripped the waistband of the leggings and…ripped.

“Oh. My. Goodness! So hot.”

He cracked up. “I know. It’s crazy. I’ve never done that before. I’ll buy you new ones. Maybe a whole bunch because that was wicked fun.”

Her underwear went next. She’d just bought those from Brynne’s shop and they weren’t cheap, but oh well. Sacrifices needed to be made.

Gage kicked out of his shorts, reaching for the drawer of the side table as Micki stood in her childhood living room, naked as a jay and wearing boots.

She lifted one foot. “The boots are sexy, no?”

He dug through the drawer, found his wallet and plucked out a condom. “Found it!”

“You’re such a Boy Scout.”

“Actually, I was never a Boy Scout. I play outside the lines too much.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

He got the condom on, stripped his shirt off, and—oh, oh, oh—his chest was perfection. Even more so than she’d imagined. Hidden underneath his loose shirts hid cut, rock-solid muscle, and she ran her hands over his pecs, into the smattering of golden hairs. She’d never get tired of touching him. Never.

He looked down at her hands moving over him. “Right here?”

“Yep.”

“Against the wall?”

“Absolutely.”

He picked her up again and she wrapped her legs around him, felt the press of his erection on the inside of her thigh and let out a gasp. A man. A real man. No casual acquaintance she’d gone out with a time or two in a mad attempt for affection.

In just a few days, Gage Barber knew and understood her. As scary as that was.

“Thank you.”

“Sweetheart, I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Yes, you have.”

Then he was inside her, pushing into her, and she gasped again.

“Sorry.”

He started to pull out and she gripped his shoulders. “No. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Damn, Micki, you feel good.”

She arched her back and squeezed her thighs and he pushed deeper, rocking his hips as she found his rhythm and…so good. So, so good.

They moved together, figuring it out, experimenting with touches and thrusts, exploring with hands and tongues, finding the hot buttons while her belly coiled into a tight, fierce ball. She swung her head back and forth and got lightheaded for her efforts. “If you stop, I’ll kill you.”

He pumped harder, holding her against that wall, damned near splitting her in two, but she wanted more of it. More of the closeness, the few minutes of feeling that emotional connection she’d been missing.

He drew back, met her gaze while a playful smile lit up his face and…that’s it…too much. Her body, every inch of her splintered. She cried out as flashes of color, a rainbow bursting, filled her vision.

Captain America kept up his pace. She hung on, rocking her hips harder, giving as good as she got until he thrust one last time, his body tensing as the orgasm tore into him.

He collapsed against her, his chest heaving, but he held her against the wall as her body went limp. He drew long, exhausted breaths and she wrapped him in her arms, kissing his shoulder. All that hard work they’d done.

Together.

Gage braced Micki against the wall, hoping to hell his knees didn’t give out, but with the way he was panting, they might wind up in a face-plant. Oooh—eee the girl had given him a workout.

Damn, that was fun.

“Tell me,” she whispered in his ear, “we just did that.”

“Oh, yeah. We did it.”

She pinched his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Sorry. I had to make sure it wasn’t, like, the best dream I’ve ever had.”

“Typically, people pinch themselves. Not others.”

But what did he care who she pinched? As long as he got to do this with her again, he had no complaints. Not a one.

Still holding her, and being careful not to move too quickly and give himself a head rush, he straightened. The fact that he hadn’t fallen over in the middle of that very active screwing was a damned miracle.

Things were definitely looking up.

Regretfully, he slid out of her, but couldn’t help kissing her. Then doing it again as he dragged one hand down her thigh, her skin so soft under his fingers. “You’re good for my mood.”

“Ditto, but you can put me down, you know.”

“Maybe I like holding you.”

“Yes, but eventually, you'll have to let me go.”

He hoped to hell not. “Maybe you have a point.”

Three seconds later, her feet were on the floor and Gage made quick work of dealing with the condom while Micki headed upstairs to the bathroom.

Miss Joan’s big grandfather clock chimed, the cascading bells echoing throughout the house. Eight o’clock already. After getting home and squatting at the piano, he’d lost time.

Micki swung around the bannister and stood at the base of the stairs, her hair back in that sexy, messy-on-purpose look. “I can’t believe that old clock still works.”

“Yep. For some reason, it only goes off every twelve hours. Not that I’m complaining. I get headaches and the chimes would make me nuts. Speaking of which, I'm starving and my head hurts. Have you eaten?”

“Nope. I figured I’d stop in at the B and grab something after I talked to you.”

She hit him with a smug grin. I did that. Or, at least he’d helped put that grin there.

“Good. How about I buy you dinner? I’ll take you home after that. We’ll throw the bike in my truck.”

“Um.” She gestured to the scraps of her clothing on the floor. “We should have thought twice about shredding my pants and underwear.”

Shit. What the hell had he been thinking? She had no damned clothes now. And as thin as she was, his stuff wouldn't fit her. Totally irresponsible on his part.

He held up his hands. “Let’s not panic.”

She slid on her bra and put her hands on her hips. “Easy for you to say. I’m the one standing here in a bra and boots.”

Okay. Now that was funny. The two of them, at the exact same time, burst out laughing. What a pair.

“Jeez, Micki, I’m sorry. Should I run up to the house and grab you some clothes or something?”

“No! Are you kidding? What if Jonah sees you rummaging through my stuff?”

He hadn’t thought about that. And on a Sunday night, all the shops in town were closed.

“Evie.” Micki grabbed her phone from the wallet/purse thing she’d dumped next to the couch. “I’ll get her to bring me replacements.”

A ball of panic unfurled, stabbing him behind the eyes. Not that he was ashamed of whatever this was with Micki, but really? She wanted to clue her family in before they even knew if it was going anywhere?

He touched her arm. “Uh, you sure about that?”

“Not in this lifetime, but if I go walking into my mother’s house wearing a pair of men’s sweats, I think it’ll stir some controversy.” She waved him off. “We can trust Evie. I’ll just have her bring me something and we’ll buy her dinner. How’s that?”

Risky. That’s how it was. For a lot of reasons. When Reid found out about Gage and Micki, Gage wanted to be the one to tell him. To let him know that this wasn’t a quick lay. A fast meaningless hookup. What exactly he’d describe it as was lost on him, but at least on his part, it wasn’t any of those things.

“Unless,” Micki said, “you don’t want…”

And the way she looked at him, her eyes a little wary and distant and…shutting him down. Snapping back to her guarded habits.

“No,” he said. “I’m great. I don’t want your family hearing about us from the town criers. You know how this place is. They won’t talk about me. They’ll talk about you. It has to come from me. Or you. If you’re comfortable with calling Evie, so am I.”

“I trust her. There’s girl code and then there’s sister code. If I know her at all, she'll love this.” She poked at her phone and held it to her ear. “Evie! It’s me…Micki.”

As if her sister wouldn't know her?

“Can I ask a huge favor?”