I should've stayed in bed. The night before, I'd been smart. Instead of roaming Winters House when I couldn't sleep and risking a run-in with Gage, I’d curled up in the window seat in my bedroom and stared out into the dark night.

Things had gotten out of control with Gage in the kitchen. I couldn't afford to let it happen again. Just the memory of his mouth on mine, the feel of his hands on my skin, and I was wet. No man had ever had this effect on me. One minute I was admiring his eyes, or the stretch of his shirt over his shoulders, and the next I was dizzy with lust, willing to risk everything for just one more minute with him. Stupid.

I knew better. I loved my job. Getting involved with Gage was a complication that could drive me from the only home I’d had in years. I’d decided to do the only responsible, mature thing—I was avoiding him.

I hadn’t seen him since he'd interrupted my meeting with Aiden. He hadn't come to lunch or dinner for two days, staying closeted in his room. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn't help worrying about him.

A somber mood hung over the house, infecting everyone. Amelia, Mrs. W—even Abel seemed subdued. When I asked Mrs. W about it, she explained that it was the anniversary of Hugh and Olivia Winters murder.

When Charlie still lived in the house, she’d told me, Aiden would come up with a business trip that required both of them to leave town until the anniversary had passed. Even when the children had still been young, Mrs. W said Aiden had emptied the house every year rather than face the memory of the night his parents had been killed. She said she wasn't surprised he’d left again this year, only that he hadn't taken Gage with him.

Pouring myself a cup of tea, I'd said, “They don't seem to get along very well.”

Mrs. W rarely gossiped about the Winters family. She was loyal to the core and loved them like they were her own, so I was surprised when she said, with a shake of her head, “Those boys. They were tight as ticks when they were young. But after Gage left and Aiden had so much on his shoulders…” She trailed off. Briskly assembling a snack plate for Aunt Amelia, she went on, “They'll work it out. They just need some time. But I don't like Gage on his own. Not tonight.”

She slanted me a look I couldn't read. No one in the house knew that Gage and I had met in the middle of the night more than once. As far as everyone else was concerned, we were strangers, sharing a few meals at the dinner table and no more.

But the way Mrs. W looked at me, the suggestion I thought I saw in her eyes—did she know? Sometimes it seemed like Mrs. W knew everything that happened in Winters House. Maybe she did.

I couldn't get her words out of my mind. I'd managed to fall asleep when I tucked myself into bed, but I'd woken not long after midnight from a nightmare of grasping hands and swinging fists.

Like most of my bad dreams, this one took place in the dark. My memories of Anthony belonged in the dark. Still half asleep, fighting my way out of the dream, I rolled over and flicked on the light. One day, I would sleep through the night, but it wouldn't be tonight.

I got out of bed and pulled on my robe. For the first time in ages, I wished I had something a little more feminine. The waffle-weave white cotton was clean and crisp, attractive in its own way. Attractive, but not at all feminine. Not sexy. When did I start worrying about being sexy?

Since Anthony, I’d done my best to downplay my more attractive features and focus on my skills over my looks. Not that I was a raving beauty or anything, but between the almost platinum shade of my hair and a curvy figure men seem to like, I drew attention.

I'd never be a supermodel or a movie star, but since I'd hit adolescence, my looks had attracted men. I'd always been a little too shy to make the most of it, and after Anthony, I had no interest in any kind of attention, especially attention based on the way I looked. That could only get me in trouble.

I definitely shouldn't wish I had a different nightgown. I looked down at the thin white cotton trimmed in lace and shook my head. I dressed like someone's maiden aunt. After years in the thick flannel chin-to-toes nightwear Anthony gave me, the light, thin cotton felt like freedom.

I wasn't ready for anything more skin bearing. This nightgown was sleeveless, and that was enough to make me feel daring and exposed. I tried not to remember the negligée I'd chosen for my wedding night. I hadn't worn anything like it since.

I’d thought about it, mostly wondering if I should replace my white cotton with silk and satin—reclaim some of what Anthony had stolen from me. In theory, it was a great idea, but when I looked at those filmy negligées in the department store, I shuddered with memory. White cotton would have to do.

I paced my room for a few minutes, caught in an argument with myself. I wanted a cup of tea. Hiding in my room when I couldn't sleep only made it worse, gave me a sense of being trapped, of hiding, that I hated.

I didn't want to risk running into Gage. Avoiding him seemed like the most sensible move, but I was worried after talking to Mrs. W. He was having enough trouble adjusting to being home. I knew there was no way he was asleep that night of all nights, the anniversary of his aunt and uncles death.

I was leaving my room before I'd consciously made the decision. Heading down the hall, I saw the flicker of firelight in the library and thought about making tea. Two cups, one for each of us.

In the dark, I could sneak by the library without being seen. Winters House was built on a large square, the courtyard in the center. My room and Amelia's were on the front right corner, closest to the driveway and inner gate. The library and Aiden's office were in the back right, the kitchen opposite in the back left. Most of the rooms opened right into the hallway, but the doors to the library, Aiden's office, and the wine room were tucked into a separate small hallway, shielding both rooms from anyone passing by.

I could easily sneak past the library without being caught. There was no reason to poke my head in before I went to make tea.

I was through the doorway before I decided I wasn't going in. I didn't have time to be annoyed at my indecisiveness or the way I kept acting against my best interests. The moment my eyes fell on him, Gage commanded all of my attention.

He was sprawled on the leather couch, his feet propped on the coffee table, a crystal decanter of whiskey beside them, a half-full cut crystal glass in his hand. I'd never seen Gage drink before. Not like this.

His eyes were glazed, his limbs loose. When he caught sight of me the side of his mouth curled in a sardonic smile. The clarity of his speech took me by surprise. Based on the way he looked, I would've expected him to be slurring his words.

Instead, each word was perfectly clear when he said, “Sophie. My angel come to rescue me in the dark.”

His voice was a growl. Shivers skated down my skin, prickling my nerves from the back of my neck to the bottom of my feet, waking every part of my body.

I didn't move from my spot just inside the doorway, my eyes locked on his. When he kept speaking, I swayed forward just a little, mesmerized by the low rumble of his voice.

“The first time I saw you I thought you were an angel. That hair, those eyes, the white robe. I figured it was the end. Coming home was a dream, and you were here to take me with you. Then I heard your voice, and I knew you were no angel. No angel could have a voice like yours. So sweet.”

“Are you drunk?” I asked, and wished I'd kept my mouth shut when he threw back the rest of the whiskey in his glass. He refilled it, his movements precise and controlled. The brown liquor poured cleanly into the crystal glass, the stopper sliding easily into the decanter without a clink.

His hands were steady, and the way he was speaking clear enough, but the glaze in his blue eyes and the things he was saying… Gage Winters was not sober.

In answer to my question, he shook his head. “Not yet, Angel. But I'm working on it. Come keep me company.”

I stayed where I was. Shoving my hands in the pockets of my robe, I held my arms tight to my side and said, “I don't think that's a very good idea. I shouldn't have let you… We shouldn't have… In the kitchen the other day, I—”

My mouth snapped shut, and I fell silent.

Gage took a sip of his whiskey, studying me with hooded eyes. I tried to look away, but I couldn't stop staring at his face. I'd rarely seen him so relaxed. Even knowing it was the alcohol easing his tension, Gage became even more magnetic when he wasn't wound tight. If it hadn't been for the sadness in his eyes, I might've thought it was a good thing.

But the sadness was there, clinging to him, weighing him down. And he was only relaxed because he was drinking. I knew he avoided alcohol for exactly this reason.

“Do you want me to apologize for kissing you?” he asked, his eyes fixed on my mouth. Before I could answer, he said, “Because I'm not going to. Kissing you might be the best decision I've made in the last thirteen years, and I'm not apologizing for it.”

“I don't want an apology,” I said, honestly. “I just don't think we should do it again.”

“We'll have to agree to disagree on that, Angel. Come have a drink with me. It'll help you sleep.”

I took another step into the library before I drew short. His voice was wrapping itself around me, cajoling and tempting. How could something so soothing feel so dangerous?

I tried to tell myself to turn around and go back to my room. I didn't listen. I didn't want to go back to my lonely room and stare at the ceiling until the sun rose. I wanted to be here, with Gage. I wanted—I cut that thought off before I could finish it. I wasn't in a position to want anything with Gage.

For so long I'd had a single focus in life. First, it was to get through college and nursing school so I could get a job and support myself. Then it was surviving marriage to Anthony. Then I was free, and my life was all about finding work and moving forward.

Until the day Gage came home to Winters House. From the moment we'd met my focus had split. A part of me still thought my job and my future should be my most important priority. That part of me was practical. Sensible. Before Gage, I’d never wanted anything more than security.

Now there was a new Sophie. The Sophie that had kissed Gage in the kitchen. The Sophie who wanted to curl up next to him on that couch, take a long sip of his whiskey, and kiss him again. That Sophie didn't give a crap about her job or security. That Sophie was tired of sleepless nights and bad dreams and feeling like she was dead inside.

The new Sophie wanted to be alive.

She wanted to dream.

She wanted to want.

I hovered there, one step into the room, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, and watched Gage lift the glass to his lips. He took a slow, long sip of the whiskey. Sensible Sophie yelled at me as my feet carried me across the room. I ignored her.

Gage’s eyes flared as I moved to the opposite side of the couch and sat, tucking my feet beneath me and leaning against the arm. With Gage sprawled against the opposite arm, a good three feet separated us.

Leaning forward, he filled a second glass with a small splash of whiskey and handed it to me. I took it, thrilling more than I should have when his fingers stroked the back of my hand before withdrawing.

I took a sip of the whiskey and coughed. I didn't like whiskey. The sour fire of it burned my throat. I didn't really like alcohol in general, but if I was going to stay up half the night drinking, whiskey would never be my first choice.

I wasn't here for the whiskey. I was here for Gage.