Deciding not to play games, I said, “Mrs. W told me why Aiden left. Told me what today is. I'm sorry.”

Gage’s eyes dropped to the whiskey in his hand. He swirled the glass and took a sip. “This is the first year I've been home on the anniversary since it happened.”

“Was it easier? Being away?” I asked.

“I would've told you no. But now that I'm here? Yeah, being away was easier. I found them right here, you know.” He gestured to the Persian rug with his whiskey glass. “Right there on the rug.”

“You were home?” I asked.

I don't know why I thought no one was home when Hugh and Olivia Winters were murdered. I didn't know much about the crime. I hadn't lived in the area when it had happened, and it felt creepy to spy on my new employers by reading all the media coverage.

A simple web search had uncovered pages of headlines, click bait and trashy. I hadn't read a single one. Seeing the haunted guilt in Gage’s blue eyes, I was glad I hadn't.

“I was home,” he said in a distant voice. “I was here the whole time, and I didn't save them. Just walked in and found them laying on the floor. Exactly the same way my parents died. Almost the same position on the rug. Same room. Different house.”

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know a lot about the Winters’ tragic history, but I did know Gage’s parents had died when he was a child, in their own home a quarter-mile away. And I'd known those deaths had been called a murder/suicide by the police, just like Hugh and Olivia Winters’ murders had been.

The headlines I'd seen had fed on that angle, but Gage hadn't said, “I didn't stop them.” He’d said, “I didn't save them.”

I turned the problem over in my mind, wanting to ask what he meant and afraid to make it all worse. Had they been murdered and he'd been home? It suddenly occurred to me how narrowly the teenage Gage might have escaped being killed himself.

I watched him drain half the whiskey in his glass, tipping his head back as it ran down his throat and staring at the ceiling, shrouded in the darkness of the room. The flickering light of the fire gilded his skin, turning his tan to gold and setting flames into his blue eyes.

He was almost impossibly beautiful in his own rugged way. When my eyes caught on the curve of his lower lip, I looked away and took my own long sip of whiskey, fighting back the urge to cough and choke as it burned its way to my stomach.

I expected Gage to say something else about his aunt and uncle, the anniversary, but his next words almost sent me fleeing the room.

“You were married,” he said, flatly. “What happened with your husband?”

I took another sip of the whiskey to cover my reluctance to answer. I never talked about my marriage. With anyone. I’d only told Amelia a little.

His dark rumble of a voice carefully gentle, Gage said, “It was that bad?”

“I don't talk about it,” I admitted. “And I don't want to talk about it now.”

“Fair enough,” Gage said. “I don't want to talk either.”

In a fluid movement, too graceful for a man who'd been drinking whiskey all night, Gage surged forward and pulled the half empty crystal glass from my hand. Before I could move out of reach, he closed his hand around my arm and tugged me forward.

It happened so fast, I lost my balance and fell into him. I started to struggle, to fight my way free when his arms closed around me and he pulled me into his side, pressing my head to his chest.

“Settle down, Angel. I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to. I swear. I’ll never hurt you. I just want to hold on to you for a few minutes. Just let me hold onto you.”

I went still in his arms, confused. The second the fight went out of me, Gage settled me into his side, smoothing my robe down over my legs and wrapping his arm around my back.

His heart beat under my ear. His solid body was warm against mine, smelling of whiskey and man.

I felt his breath against the top of my head, his lips in my hair as he murmured, “I just want to hold onto you for a little while.”

The tight knot in my chest unfurled, and I melted into him, letting my legs twine with his and laying my arm across his chest. Bit by bit I relaxed, my body molding to his, my eyes sliding shut.

I don't know how long we lay there. A while. Long enough for me to get comfortable. So comfortable I never realized I'd shifted the arm I had across his chest and was exploring his body in lazy strokes, my fingers sliding over his shoulders, tracing his collarbone, dipping into the ridges of muscle at his abdomen.

I was lost in my own head, warm and safe, my hands on Gage as if he were mine, as if I had license to do whatever I wanted with him.

Gradually, I realized that his breath had shortened. His heart beat had sped up. My hand stilled on the side of his neck, and his voice rumbled against my palm when he said, “Don't stop. I won't do anything if you don't want me to. Just don't stop.”

I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to stop. I wanted to keep touching him. I wanted to dive my fingers under his shirt and feel the heat of his skin on mine. I wanted more of Gage, and I didn't want to worry about the consequences.

So many wants and all of them were foolish. I knew I should get up and leave. I didn't move.

I lay there, completely still, my hand curled around the side of Gage's neck, silently arguing with myself. I might have been there forever if Gage hadn't slid his fingers around my chin and urged my head up, his eyes searching for mine.

I shifted over him, maybe trying to get off the couch, away from temptation, but as I moved my body over Gage's his hands closed on my hips, holding me on top of him.

I was slow to react. I lay there, straddling Gage Winters, thinking that this was the exact opposite of what I’d intended. I was supposed to be climbing over him, off the couch, and scurrying out the door. Away from temptation. Away from trouble.

Gage's fingers sank into my hips, but I could have moved easily enough if I’d really wanted to. I didn't want to move. I knew what I wanted.

Ignoring all my doubts, I leaned down and touched my lips to his.

Gage froze beneath me, his muscles tight with tension as I brushed my lips against his. Sinking my fingers into his thick hair, I did it again, slower, flicking out my tongue to taste the full lower lip that always drew my eye. I couldn't resist sucking it into my mouth, opening him to me, fitting my lips against his and tasting him.

My tongue touched his and Gage came back to life, his hips rolling beneath mine, his erection hard against my heat. His need was unleashed in his kiss, his mouth taking control, taking everything it wanted. I fell into the kiss, forgetting that just moments before I'd been ready to flee the room.

Yanking at the voluminous fabric of my rope and nightgown, Gage went for the bare skin beneath, stroking his hands from my knees to my hips and up my sides. My breath caught in my throat as his big, rough hands closed over my breasts.

Gage broke our kiss, his head falling back as he groaned, “Fuck, Sophie.”

My lips met his again, and his kiss was hungry. Demanding. When one hand traced down my spine to dip between my legs, I settled back into him, my knees spreading wider, my hips tilting up.

I was wanton, as hungry, as needy, as he was. He plucked at my nipple, sending shocks of sharp, sweet pleasure through me. One thick finger delved into the heat between my legs, carefully, patiently opening my body to him. I panted into his mouth, overcome with sensation, too much and not enough.

A second finger joined the first, and I let out a low cry, tearing my mouth from his and dropping my forehead against his neck, panting and rocking back into his hand, undone by the pleasure.

Two fingers pumped deep in my pussy, a hard callous thumb pressed into my clit, and I let out a keening wail, gasping for breath. I think I called his name.

My cheeks were wet with tears or perspiration. I didn't know. I didn't know anything. Just Gage's hand between my legs, his fingers teasing my nipple, his strong, solid body supporting my weight as I shuddered and wept through a wave of pleasure, unlike anything I'd ever known before.

Afterward, I was shaking, tiny shocks of bliss echoing through my body, a heavenly ache pulsing between my legs. I was aware of Gage withdrawing his fingers, smoothing down my nightgown and robe as he arranged my legs beside his. I couldn't help but notice the long, thick bar of his erection straining the front of his pants.

I wanted to touch him, to see what he felt like in my hand, to make him feel the we he'd made me feel. So good. So alive.

I reached for him, and Gage's hand closed over mine, leading it to his chest. I propped myself up on one elbow and looked down at him in confusion.

“Don't you want me to?”

Not releasing my hand from his, he sat up a little and kissed me gently, skating his lips along my jaw and nipping my earlobe.

“Angel, you have no idea how much I want you to.”

“I want to touch you,” I said, ignoring the blush I could feel in my cheeks.

“I want you to, but not yet. Not tonight.”

“Why?” I asked, searching his eyes, trying to understand.

“You gave me a gift, Sophie. You trusted me to make you feel good.” Seeming to change the subject, he said, “I love the sound of your voice when you talk. So low and sweet, it soothes all the jagged parts inside me. Did you know that? But the sounds you make when you come—. Fuck, Angel, I could listen to that for the rest of my life. It almost makes me feel whole again.”

“Then why—”

“We’re not ready for that. I’m a fucked up mess, Sophie. You deserve better. And if you let me get inside that sweet angel’s body of yours, I’m not going to be able to let you go. Do you understand?”

“You’re protecting me? From you?”

“I promised I’d keep you safe,” he said, in answer.

Gage sat up, bringing me with him, and stood, pulling me to my feet. My legs were shockingly wobbly. I realized he planned to walk me to my room. I knew he was going to leave me there, alone.

If I were alone, he’d be alone, too.

“Are you going to sleep tonight?” I asked. Gage scanned the library, his eyes bleak. He shrugged. That meant ‘no.’ Pulling my hand from his, I said, “I’m not leaving you. We can play cards. Watch a movie. Something. But I’m not leaving you.”

“Angel,” he started.

I planted my hands on my hips, keeping my eyes on his. I wasn’t very big, and I wasn’t loud, but I was stubborn as hell. Gage’s tight shoulders dropped in resignation.

“Fine.”

We stood there for a full minute, in silence, watching each other. Gage seemed to come to a decision because he took my hand and led me back to the couch. Turning on a speaker in the book shelves I hadn’t noticed, he put music on low. Big band. The old stuff.

Gage spread out on the long couch and pulled me into his arms, tucking me securely between his big body and the back of the couch. My head on his chest, his fingers combed through my hair as the flames of the fire flickered across the room, and the lively tones of the music drifted to our ears.

“My uncle Hugh and aunt Olivia loved this music. I used to walk in on them dancing together.”

He fell silent, his fingers tugging gently through my hair, lulling me to sleep. Letting out a long breath, he relaxed beneath me. I stretched my arm over his chest, my hand on his side as if I could hold him to me. As if I could keep him safe from the demons in his memories. I couldn’t change his past. I couldn’t heal his wounds. All I could do was hold him close to my heart and hope it was enough.