Ashley sat up with a gasp.

What the hell was that? She strained, listening for the sound that had startled her awake.

It came again—a low, muffled groan. Wind. Smith had said the wind sometimes blew drafts through the house. She looked out the window, where a full moon shone like a spotlight. The trees were still.

Another groan drifted through the door. Whatever it was, it was close.

Shivers raced down her spine, and the hair on her arms lifted. She pictured a spectral figure in Victorian clothing floating down the hall. Her heart thumped. She pinned her gaze on the door. Any second now, a ghost was going to seep through it, and she’d die of a heart attack. Smith would find her and what wonder happened—

A man’s muffled yell split the air. Smith’s deep baritone was unmistakable.

She threw back the covers, got out of bed, and went to the door. Was he hurt? In pain? She waited for another sound, her nerves so taut someone could have played them like a fiddle.

There was a groan, followed by a low woof. She didn’t even think, just yanked the door open and flew across the hall. Smith’s door was closed. She grasped the knob and burst inside. The moon was even brighter in here. Smith lay flat on his back, one arm flung over his head. The blankets were tangled around his waist, his shorts bunched around his thighs. His bare chest heaved. Deuce sat at his side, his ears pinned back. A high-pitched sound—like air being let out of a balloon—filled her ears. It took her a second to realize it came from Deuce. He nosed Smith in short, frantic snuffles.

She crossed to the bed. “Smith?”

His eyes were closed, but his features contorted like he was in pain.

He’s having a nightmare. “Smith? Smith, wake up.”

His mouth twisted. He sucked in a breath and then let out the most heartbreaking sound she’d ever heard. Low and raw, it ripped from his chest as if it had come from the depths of his soul. Beside him, Deuce yelped—an exclamation point on the end of the wrenching moan.

Fear spiked her veins. This was more than a nightmare. She leaned over Smith and gripped his bare shoulders. “Smith!”

His eyes shot open. Their gazes met. His narrowed, and she caught a glimpse of the deadly calm he’d displayed when he demanded to know the name of the man who hurt her.

Then his arm shot out, and she flew across the room.

She landed ass-first on the hardwood. The impact forced a grunt from her lungs. Pain shot up her spine. “Ow…shit!”

Smith sat up. He blinked, his gaze blank as if he was just now seeing her. “Ashley?”

She rolled to her hip.

“Ashley…” His gaze swept the room, then he jumped out of bed and extended a hand. “Are you all right?”

She waved off his help and got to her feet. “Yes, I think so.” She resisted the urge to rub her backside.

“What are you doing in here?”

Wait a minute, was that anger in his voice? “I heard you cry out. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

The concern on his face vanished. Now his mouth tightened, and his brows pulled low in a frown. “You shouldn’t have come in here.”

“I was worried. I thought—”

“You didn’t think. I told you not to walk around the house at night.”

Why was he being such a dick about this? It was weird to find herself on the defensive when she’d only been trying to help. And he’d just tossed her to the ground like a bean bag! “You didn’t tell me not to walk around. You said you’re a light sleeper—”

He slashed his hand through the air. “You don’t understand. I could have killed you!”

“I’m sorry. I was just trying—”

“I don’t need you to try. I need you to follow orders!”

Orders? Just like that, she was done apologizing. She took a step toward him. “Hey, I said I was sorry. Next time I won’t bother checking to see if you’re okay.”

He didn’t back up. No, he leaned forward. All at once, she realized just how big he was. Her heart thumped. Moonlight turned his face to harsh angles. In a low, precise voice, he said, “That’s not a problem, because there won’t be a next time. I don’t need you to check in on me, I don’t need you in this house, and I sure as hell don’t need you.”

Ice slid down her spine. It would have been better if he’d yelled. If he’d flailed his arms and told her to get out, she could have handled it. But this… The contained menace in his gaze was more shocking than a loud outburst. Somehow, she managed to nod. Then, without a word, she turned and left his room.

It was a good thing the bed was right behind him because Smith’s legs gave out as soon as the door closed behind Ashley. Although, if he fell on his ass, he sure as hell didn’t have to worry about her rushing back in to check on him. Judging from the shocked look on her face before she’d walked out, he didn’t have to worry about ever seeing her again.

A giant fist squeezed his heart. He hunched over and rested his elbows on his knees. If the nausea struck, at least he wouldn’t puke on his bedspread.

As always, the shaking started in his legs and worked its way up. There was nothing he could do to stop it—he just had to ride it out. A cold nose touched his side, then Deuce wiggled his furry body next to Smith’s hip.

Smith managed to fling an arm over Deuce’s back. “Thanks, buddy.”

Deuce settled against him with a canine grunt.

In the hall, a door opened. Deuce’s ears perked up. Smith closed his eyes…and then he heard it, too. Her bare feet were quiet on the stairs. A few seconds later, the security system beeped, and the back door clicked shut.

Gone.

He pictured her crossing the lawn, her high heels in one hand. Dammit, the temperature was probably in the thirties. She had no business being outside without shoes.

You drove her to it. The thought bounced around his brain like a pinball. He opened his eyes and stared at the floor. It was better this way. Better for her, although she didn’t know it.

The tremors moved up his legs and entered his hands. As he watched his fingers twitch, another thought crept into his mind. Is it better for me?

As soon as he thought it, he dismissed it. The only thing that mattered was Ashley’s well-being, and that meant keeping her at a distance. It had been foolish to invite her to stay. Selfish, even. Pushing her away had been the right thing to do, even at the expense of their friendship…and whatever else might have been.

Doing the right thing didn’t always feel nice, but that didn’t make it less noble.

A still frame of her smiling at him over dinner flashed into his mind. She’d let her eyes drift shut in pleasure as she ate the food he made for her.

The fist squeezed his heart again. Damn, if doing the right thing didn’t really suck right now.

He turned his head, and his gaze landed on his dresser. The muscles in his back jumped as the last of the tremors left him. Gaze on the dresser, he stroked the thick hair around Deuce’s neck. When he was certain his legs could support him, he got up and crossed the room.

The photo was right where he’d left it—upper left drawer under a stack of t-shirts. Moonlight fell across the floor in thick bars. He stepped into the light. He stared at the photo for a few minutes, then looked toward the window that faced Ashley’s house.

For once in his life, he didn’t feel like being noble.