Whatever focus or train of thought had carried Cade through the tense words at his parent’s house and the subsequent idea to bring Jaz home—actually bringing her home was another matter entirely.

Now that she was here, Cade had to do something with her. Or at least make her comfortable so she could go to bed, safe in the knowledge nothing would happen to her here.

Only that meant he had to bunk on his couch and imagine her in his bed.

He’d do it a million times over if it meant keeping her safe, but that couldn’t erase the sudden awareness he had of the woman in his apartment. While he’d always felt his one-bedroom apartment was plenty big, the space now felt cramped and awkward.

Jaz was here.

Which was also dumb because she’d been here before. She and Daphne had stopped by several times, and Jasmine had even come over for the Super Bowl party he’d thrown a few years back. She was his friend. He knew her.

Which, for reasons he couldn’t fully define, was shaping up to be the problem.

The fight at his parents had been worse than their usual sniping, yet typical of their exchanges over the past few years. He never went into a conversation trying to fight with her, yet that’s how things seemed to end up. The two of them doing battle. The subject changed, but the tone and tenor never did. And no matter how many times he promised himself he wouldn’t rise to the bait, he always ended up doing just that.

Daphne had the nerve to suggest recently it was a type of foreplay, which was ridiculous. Absurd. Nonsensical.

But the thought had stuck.

Cade swiped a pillow and the light blanket that lay at the foot of his bed and walked back to the living room. Jasmine was where he’d left her—still standing next to the couch—her arms folded and her gaze distracted. He gave himself another moment to simply watch her.

The tank top and jeans he’d observed earlier still wrapped her long, lithe form. She had a dancer’s body—graceful, slender, strong—yet for the first time in a long time, he worried she might break.

How had they all missed the fact that Barrow had been let out?

And the fact that the man had been let out meant Cade had no business thinking about foreplay or any other kind of play with Jasmine Shane. He needed to protect her, and in order to do that, he needed his full focus.

“Bed’s yours.”

“Thanks.”

When Jasmine didn’t move, Cade added, “There are towels under the sink.”

“Thanks.”

“Jaz?”

“Hmmm?”

“Why don’t you go to bed now?”

“Right. Sure.” Her attention shifted to him and off of whatever she’d seen in her mind’s eye, but she made no move to leave. “I have a question, and I need an honest answer.”

“Like you need to ask me for one of those.”

His attempt to lighten the mood fell flat, evidenced by the lack of humor in her dark gaze. The room was warm, his window air conditioner unit not fully kicked in yet, but the look in her eyes was as bleak as a night in January.

“Come on, Jaz. You can ask me anything.”

“Do you think he would have killed me if you hadn’t shown up?”

* * *

The question had haunted her for months, swirling in her mind, desperate for an answer. Was it simple coincidence that Cade had arrived at her dance studio while out on a holiday errand, or had there been something else at work? Some deeper force, ensuring he was the one who found her.

Who saved her.

Barrow had kept up his torrent of words, his intent to rape her clear in his tight hold and the disgusting groping she’d fought with all her strength, but Cade had arrived in time. He’d thrown Barrow off of her and physically dealt with him while Jasmine had scrambled to call for help.

But if he hadn’t showed up . . .

“In my line of work I learned a long time ago not to ask what-ifs.”

“Because?”

“Because they’re a waste of time. I did show up and you’re here. And you were doing a damn fine job protecting yourself and fighting him off when I did show up. The questions are just that. Questions. They can’t erase the fact that you’re here and whole and well.”

He was right. His comments even matched something her mother had said, on one of the few occasions they’d discussed what had happened. One of the few times Jasmine had acknowledged there was even something to talk about. The absence of conversation wasn’t lack of support—she’d sensed her mother wanted to discuss the situation further—but Jasmine had found it easier just to set it aside.

She’d survived. Violent asshole went to jail. Life went on, and she was determined to put it all behind her with work, and her classes, and the general busy schedule that was her life.

Which made the words that tripped out that much more puzzling. “Black and white. The definitive Cade Rossi approach to any and all problems.”

“And there we go again.” Heat sparked, arcing across the room as frustration and anger set his shoulders in a hard, unyielding line. “I’m the bad guy for stating the truth. Just like I was the bad guy for giving you a lift home earlier. And I’m the jerk who interrupted your date. What the hell have I done?”

She wasn’t a nasty person. Nor was she someone who liked to find a weakness and exploit it. So why did those fundamental personality traits vanish each time they were together?

Was it jealousy? Was she truly that small and petty that she couldn’t wish him happiness?

He wasn’t in love with her. As a friend and member of the extended Rossi family, yes, she knew he loved her. As a life partner he didn’t, and her endless need to question why was her shortcoming, not his.

When had she lost sight of that?

“You haven’t done anything.”

“You sure about that? Because every time we’re together you can’t wait to get away from me.”

“It’s not—” She stopped when he threw the pillow and blanket he still held on the end of the couch, where they landed with a dull, puffy thud. “Do you think I can’t see it? Or that I haven’t noticed? The cool disdain or the subtle jabs? I see it and I don’t fucking deserve it.”

“No, you don’t.”

“So what did I do?”

“Nothing. You did nothing.”

Where she thought her answer might bank some of that anger, it only served to add fuel. He stepped closer, and the heat of his body and his warm, lush scent shot off rockets in her brain, tripping her pulse.

What was that scent? It was elusive and so hard to describe, yet so completely Cade. She’d noticed it as a teenager, this sense of him that seemed to fill her from the inside. She’d thought to mention it to Daphne once, but held back. A discussion of how her best friend’s brother smelled was sure to prompt eye rolls and disbelief.

Yet it was the first thing she noticed every time she was in his company. The scent was masculine and musky, sensual without being offensive. He smelled like a man. Strong. Powerful. Sexy.

In a word: Cade.

He didn’t move, but she gave herself a moment to look at him—really look at him—taking in the hard lines of his jaw, his evening stubble growing in. He was so capable. So strong. And even if she remained perpetually irritated by his dating choices, she couldn’t ignore his innate kindness or fundamental need to protect.

“You didn’t do anything,” she finally said. “You’ve just been a handy punching bag.”

“That’s all?”

“What else would it be?”

His gaze remained steady on hers, as if he sought the truth of her words. She fought the urge to squirm or to embellish her statement further. She did act different with him, and he’d finally taken the opportunity to call her on it.

There was no way she could give in. She needed to stay strong and not allow the quiet intimacy of the moment to lull her into saying something she’d regret. She couldn’t give up the mantle of control she fought so hard for each and every time they were together.

But it was exhausting.

Hiding her feelings. Getting angry and frustrated with herself because she continued to pant after him like a puppy, even as he continued his personal conquests through half of Brooklyn. Riding the roller coaster of hope and loss as month after month passed, nothing changing between the two of them.

Would it ever change?

She knew this idiotic state of being was keeping her from taking things further with Gardner. Even as she well knew Gardner deserved better than a woman who was only in a relationship with him halfway.

Or maybe that was the problem. . . .

The angst that had dogged her since beginning the relationship faded, a fresh idea falling into place.

A fresh, tempting idea.

Perhaps it would be easier to move forward with Gardner if she put her curiosity to bed. What would it hurt if she simply reached out and took what she’d always wanted? It had been a bad day, and no one would argue with her need for comfort. She could kiss Cade, assuage her curiosity, and chalk it up to an anxious night.

Get in, get out, no harm, no foul.

Surely women threw themselves at him every day. Hell, she’d seen women throw themselves at Cade. Adding herself to that number would hardly phase him.

And then she’d know.

She’d know if the angst and the anxiety and the endless questions could—finally—be put to bed.

“Thank you for helping me tonight. Even if it doesn’t always show, I’m more grateful than I can tell you.”

“You’re family. I’ll always help you.”

The words nearly spilled forth, a tart answer about feeling the love and support from a man who acted like nothing more than a brother, when she stopped. Cade had given her the perfect opening.

They weren’t family. Of the heart, yes, but not of the blood.

And it was damn time the man understood that.

Without giving herself time to check the action or rethink her approach, she closed what little space was left between them, fisted his shirt in her hand to hold him in place, and pressed her lips to his.

The move was bold and very unlike her. But more than that, it was the work of a mere moment to realize exactly where she went wrong. His arms wrapped around her, crushing her to his chest as his lips moved against hers. The solid footing she was so sure of evaporated, the floor vanishing beneath her as she fell completely, utterly, and fully under the spell of Cade Rossi.