Page 29 of The Billionaire's Angel

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 betonight.

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 beingsexy?

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 drewattention.

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 introuble.

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 likefreedom.

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 itsince.

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 todo.

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 Ihated.

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 unclesdeath.

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 ofus.

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 passingby.

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

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 myattention.

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 likethis.

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 hiswords.

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

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 mybody.

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 hisvoice.

“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. Sosweet.”

“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 aclink.

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 notsober.

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

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 fellsilent.

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 goodthing.

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 thisreason.

“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 forit.”

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

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

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 sodangerous?