by Ivy Layne
“Have you always had insomnia?” Gage asked. I looked up to see his eyes on me, measuring and curious. I didn't want to answer. Alone with him in the dark and cozy kitchen, sipping the tea he'd made, I’d been lulled into a sense of safety.
I didn't realize how far my guard was down until I heard myself say, “No. I was always a good sleeper. My mom used to say I was sleeping through the night at two months old.”
“Me too,” Gage said. “I got even better in the Army. Nothing teaches you to catch sleep where you can like the Army.” He took a sip of tea and looked at me over the rim of his mug. “We both know why I can't sleep. What about you? How long have you had trouble sleeping?”
How to answer that question? Was there any way I could tell the truth without giving away too much? Stalling, I took another sip of the tea.
“Sophie?” Gage asked. He was being nosy, and I could've told him it was none of his business, but I could hear the concern in his voice.
Maybe the whiskey loosened my tongue, because I said, “It started after I got married.”
Gage's eyes went hard and flashed to my left hand. I knew what he was looking for and I said, “He's dead. He died in a car accident almost two years ago.”
Eyes narrowed on my face, Gage said slowly, “You must've been young when you got married, or you weren't married very long.”
I took another sip of tea and wished I’d told him to mind his own business. “Both. I was young. Just finished nursing school. I was working my first job, in the ER, when he came in with a broken arm. We were only married three years.”
“It wasn't good?” he asked, his words so gentle they drew tears to my eyes.
It hadn't been good. It had been very, very bad. And I wasn't going to tell Gage Winters about any of it.
I shook my head, my eyes on my tea.
“Have you talked to anyone about it? A friend? Or a therapist?”
I almost laughed at the irony of Gage asking me that question. Blinking away the moisture in my eyes, I met his gaze and challenged, “Have you?”
Gage looked away. I wasn't surprised. I could fall back on the easy explanation that macho guys like Gage didn't want to talk about their feelings. But the truth was, a lot of people didn't like to talk about their feelings. I wasn't beating down the door of the closest therapist to spill my guts about my horrible marriage.
Both of us knew better. I was a nurse for heaven’s sake. I knew exactly why I wasn't able to sleep, and I knew that therapy would probably help. Still, two years had passed since Anthony had died and set me free. I'd managed to sell our house and move away. I'd had four different jobs with different families until I'd ended up at Winters House, and during none of that time had I made a single appointment with a therapist.
Gage surprised me when he said, “I know I should. I have a buddy who went through a bad time after an IED blew up under his caravan. Some of the guys gave him shit for it, but he said talking to someone helped.”
I drank the rest of my tea in three long gulps and set the mug in the sink. “I'd better get to bed,” I said.
I moved to walk past Gage when he stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Sophie, you know you're safe here, right?”
Surprised that he could read me so well, I looked up expecting to see compassion, or sympathy, in his blue eyes. I didn't expect heat. Interest. The desire in his eyes was at odds with his gentle question.
Testing him, I asked quietly, “Am I?”
Gage tightened his hand on my arm and drew me closer until my breasts brushed his hard chest. We were separated by inches of fabric. His T-shirt, my robe, and my nightgown beneath. My body didn't care. My nipples tightened, and my breath grew short.
Gage dropped his head until his lips brushed my temple. His hold on my arm loosened, his hand stroking up and down, fingers circling my wrist, then letting go to slide to my elbow before trailing down again. The warmth of his fingers, even through the sleeve of my robe, was soothing. Soothing, and something else. Something dangerous that sparked my nerves and set my heart beating faster.
His breath brushing my skin, smelling of honey and whiskey, he whispered into my ear, “You'll always be safe with me, Sophie. I promise.”
His hand left my arm, and he took a step back. If he was waiting for me to speak, he was going to be disappointed. I had no idea what to say.
I was a coward. Crossing my arms over my chest, I whispered a hasty, “Good night,” and fled the kitchen.
For a second, my breasts pressed to his chest, his mouth at my temple, I’d been sure he was going to kiss me.
I'd wanted him to. I wanted Gage Winters to kiss me.
I don't think I needed to list all the reasons kissing Gage Winters was a terrible idea.
Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I did it anyway.
First, I worked for his family.
Second, third, and fourth, he was newly home, was working through a trauma, and was in no position to start a relationship.
Fifth, I didn't do one night stands.
Sixth, I had pretty much zero sexual experience.
Anthony had been my first, and sex with him had been brief and dull. I was pretty sure sex involved more than laying there with my eyes closed, but that's what Anthony wanted from his wife. I’d learned quickly to give Anthony what he wanted.
Gage Winters would expect more than an untutored girl in his bed.
At that thought, I stopped listing all the reasons kissing Gage Winters was a bad idea. It was too depressing.
Instead, against my better judgment, I imagined kissing Gage Winters. That lower lip, full and soft. The way he looked at me, the heat in his blue eyes.
When he’d pulled me against him, my nipples had gone tight, and warmth had gathered in my belly and between my legs. I hadn't felt desire for a man since my wedding night. Years had passed, and my body had been dry and disinterested. Sex was something other people enjoyed. Not me.
All I had to do was think about kissing Gage, and my body came to life.
That couldn't be good. I was not going to sleep with my employer’s cousin. I wasn't.
I wasn't going to kiss him. I wasn't going to flirt. I was going to be completely professional and appropriate. Just like I always was.
That didn't mean I couldn't daydream about it. Rolling over and wrapping my arms around my pillow, I smiled to myself in the dark. I wasn't going to kiss Gage Winters, but knowing that I wanted to, that my body could still feel desire for a man—that was a relief on a level so deep I couldn't fully process it. I just let the knowledge slide through me.
I wanted to kiss Gage Winters. And in my dreams, I would.
Chapter Four
Gage
I slept late the next morning. I'd fallen asleep with the scent of Sophie in my nose, sweet and sultry and out of reach. Just being near her was soothing. She had an inner calm, a strength about her, beneath the gentle exterior. When I was with her, something deep inside me relaxed, even as other parts of me came to life. The sound of her voice eased my mind, but being near her woke my body.
I was starting to love that shapeless, bulky, cotton robe. It showed absolutely nothing, but when I'd pulled her against me, and those soft breasts had pillowed against my chest, it had taken every ounce of restraint I possessed to content myself with stroking my fingers down her arm. She probably knew I'd wanted to kiss her. Any other woman and I might have.
I wasn't sure if I held back because I was afraid to scare her off, or because I didn't want to take advantage of a woman who was essentially an employee in my home. I hadn't hired her, Aiden had. Still, it was a fine and fuzzy line, one I was sure Sophie was acutely aware of. I'd meant what I said. She was safe in Winters House. Safe with me.
I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to strip off that robe and get my hands all over the soft curves beneath. The flush in her cheeks when I'd pulled her to me, the way her breath caught in her chest—I wanted that. I wanted more. I just had to figure out how to swing it.
> It felt good to have a project aside from getting my life back in order. I couldn't remember the last time I’d been this interested in a woman. In getting laid, sure. Who wasn't interested in getting laid? This wasn’t so simple. I didn't just want to fuck Sophie and leave her. For one thing, we were living in the same house. A one night stand was essentially impossible. And, not to knock anonymous sex, because anonymous sex could be great, but Sophie was more than that.
Just the sound of her voice was enough to calm something inside me I couldn't reach myself. I wanted her in bed, no question, but almost as much as that, I simply wanted to be with her.
When had I ever wanted conversation with a woman almost as much as I wanted to fuck her?
The last thing I needed was one more problem to solve, but the challenge of Sophie felt less like a burden and more like a puzzle. I could be patient, but I would figure her out.
I already knew she was skittish about men after her marriage. It was probably for the best that she hadn't wanted to talk about it. I needed some time to get used to the idea that she'd been married to a man who had, at the least, left her so tied up in knots she couldn't sleep.
How he'd done that… I'd find out from her eventually. I wasn't going to push. There wasn't any doubt in my mind that he'd hurt her, one way or another. There'd been such relief in her eyes when she told me he was dead, it had been a punch to the gut. I'd take my time with Sophie, give her the space she needed, but she’d decide she wanted me as much as I wanted her. I refused to doubt that.
I took a quick shower and jogged down the stairs. With her exceptional radar, Mrs. W met me in the front hall, a regretful expression on her face as she informed me that I'd missed breakfast, and Abel, the cook, was out at the market.
I started to shrug and reassure her I could wait until lunch when she said she’d just served tea and a snack in the living room for Sophie and Aunt Amelia.
I shot Mrs. W a grin that had her smiling back before I turned to the open double doors of the formal living room. Voices came from inside, Sophie's and Amelia's. No one else.
A quick check over my shoulder told me that Mrs. W had disappeared, leaving me alone in the front hall. A furtive glance into the room revealed Sophie and Amelia at the far end, side-by-side on a couch by the fireplace.
Sophie's lap was covered with some kind of white netting. A stack of ribbons lay over one knee. Wedding stuff. Amelia sipped tea from the tray on the table in front of them. They hadn't spotted me or heard my conversation with Mrs. W. Probably because they were bickering good-naturedly over the tea tray. I leaned against the wall beside the open door and eavesdropped.
“Hand me another cookie from the tray, would you?” Amelia asked.
“No more cookies. We'll see what we’re having for lunch. Depending on how it will affect your blood sugar, maybe you can have another cookie then.”
A suspicious silence, then I thought I caught the sound of skin striking skin. In an indignant voice, Amelia said, “Did you just smack my hand?”
In a calm, low tone, Sophie said, “I told you, no more cookies.”
“You can't spank me like I'm a toddler.”
“Then don't act like one,” Sophie said, a thread of amusement weaving through her words. “Why don't you let me talk to Abel about trying some of the low-sugar dessert recipes I found?”
“Low sugar is like low fat. Might as well not have it at all,” Amelia grumbled. I wouldn't argue with that sentiment. I tended to agree.
It sounded like Sophie did as well because she sighed and said, “I know it stinks. But this is reality, Amelia, and you have to deal with it.”
“I don't know why Charlie had to hire such a sensible nurse,” Amelia grumbled again, but I could hear the affection in her voice. To my surprise, Sophie giggled and said, “Probably because the family was afraid you'd burn the house down. I shudder to think what you would've gotten up to if you had a nurse who was as much of a troublemaker as you are.”
“Well, Charlie always was a clever girl,” Amelia admitted, making Sophie giggle again. I wished I could see her face when she laughed like that. It made her smooth, low voice sound like a mountain stream, clean and light, like joy made real. I almost stepped into the room, but her giggles faded and I stayed where I was to hear more.
Amelia went on, “She's extra clever since she has you helping out with the wedding. Doesn't she know you're my nurse, not her wedding slave?”
“You could help too,” Sophie said.
“I'd love to, but you know, my arthritis.” I pictured Amelia holding her age-spotted hands in the air as evidence. Just like with the cookie, Sophie didn't let her get away with anything.
“You don't have arthritis, Amelia Winters. And Charlie isn't the only Winters who’s clever. I've never had a patient who kept me on my toes as much as you.”
“Hey, I'm not just a patient. I'm your friend.”
“And it's a good thing we are friends,” Sophie said with mock seriousness. “If I didn't like you so much I might have already smothered you in your sleep.”
This time, Amelia was the one who dissolved into giggles. I loved hearing that almost as much as Sophie's laugh. Amelia had always been a prankster, the one dependably fun adult in a sea of proper grown-ups. The last fifteen years had been as hard on her as it had on the rest of us, but for different reasons. While we’d been dealing with losing our parents, she’d watched as a terminal illness has slowly taken the love of her life. By the end, we’d worried we’d lose Amelia, too. It was good to have her home and happy once again.
The heavy front door of Winters House swung open, and Charlie stepped inside as if conjured by Sophie and Amelia's conversation. Dressed in worn jeans and a faded gray T-shirt, her auburn hair a mess of waves and curls that suited her to perfection, she started across the hall to the living room, a smile spreading across her face as she spotted me. I held up a finger to my lips and met her before she got to the living room doors, turning her down the hall to the library.
“Why were you hovering outside the living room?” she asked, giving me a sideways glance.
Without shame, I said, “I was eavesdropping. Are you here to do wedding stuff with Amelia and Sophie?”
“Just for an hour or so. Sophie offered to help. She is an absolute angel. I don't know what Lucas and I were thinking trying to throw a wedding together in six weeks,” she said, tucking a curl behind her ear.
“How complicated can it be?” I asked. “It's a hundred people, and you're getting married at the house.”
Charlie elbowed me in the ribs and made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. “Shows what you know. I got a wedding planner to help, but there's just so much to do. I'm kind of wishing we’d decided to elope.”
“Not unless you take the rest of us with you,” I warned.
“Yeah, I know. It just seemed like this would be so much simpler when we decided on a Christmas wedding. I didn't realize how many details were involved.”
“Too late now,” I teased, leading her into the library and shutting the doors behind us.
“What's up?” Charlie asked, setting down her tote bag stuffed full of fabric samples, magazine clippings, and notebooks.
“I need a favor,” I said, not sure what Charlie's response would be.
Charlie and I had always gotten along well, but she'd been ten years old when I left home. We were never tight the way she was with Aiden.
Typical of Charlie's determination and open heart, she shoved her hands in her back pockets and said, “Anything.”
My family was grateful I was home and alive. I wasn't above using that to my advantage. I sat in one of the leather armchairs, propped my ankle on my knee, and leaned forward. Charlie took a seat in the chair opposite me, curling her legs beneath her.
“I want to go back to work,” I said. Charlie's eyes flared with surprise, but she said nothing. I went on, “Aiden's not ready to have me at Winters, Inc. He won't talk to me about coming back. He won't talk t
o me about anything.”
The last part was hard to admit. Aiden and I had always been closer than cousins. Closer than most brothers. I owed him. I knew it. But I couldn't start paying him back if he wouldn't even talk to me.
Charlie's eyes were guarded as she said, “Do you want me to talk to him?”
I shook my head. “No, Charlie, but thanks. Aiden and I have to work this out ourselves.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“I know you're not working at the company anymore,” I said. “But you still know almost everything about Winters Inc. A hell of a lot more than I do after being gone over a decade. I have a lot of catching up to do. I know you're busy, with the wedding and with the house you and Lucas just bought, but if you could find some time here and there to get me up to speed, I'd appreciate it.”
Charlie's words were careful when she spoke. “You know all of my information is six months out of date.”
“It's a lot more accurate than mine,” I countered. “I'm headed out today to get a new phone, laptop, everything I need to get back into normal life. I've kept up with the company on a superficial level, but if I'm going back to work, I need a much deeper grasp of the company's holdings, plans for expansion, everything. I can do a lot of the research on my own, but I need your help, Charlie.”
Charlie leaned forward and braced her elbows on her knees. Her ocean blue eyes were intent when they met mine. “You need to give Aiden time,” she said.
“I know,” I started to say, but Charlie cut me off.
“This isn't a guilt trip, honestly. I was too young when my parents died to judge anyone else. But Aiden was so alone after you left. He needed you. All this time he understood why you were gone, but he's missed you so much, and then we thought you were dead—”
Charlie blinked and swallowed hard. On and off over the years, I’d felt guilty for leaving, but never as much as I did just then. I was a selfish fucking asshole who'd abandoned my family. I sighed.
