Page 8 of The Billionaire's Angel

I’d read most of Hugh’s books when I’d been a teenager. I’d always gotten along well with my uncle Hugh, even before my own father had been killed. Our shared love of mysteries was just one of the things that bound us together. It burned that his death was still unsolved, not unlike the central plot to one of the books we’d loved. He deservedbetter.

I forced my thoughts off that path. If I started thinking about what Hugh and Olivia deserved, it would be a short jump to remembering what I should have done. How I might have saved them if I hadn’t been an immature, selfish asshole the night they’d died. If I was going to dwell on the past, I might as well pick up the decanter of whiskey in the corner and drain itdry.

I owed my family better than that. I’d run from my problems once. I’d run and stayed away. Thirteen years was long enough. I was home, and I was sticking. Alcohol was just another way of running. I was done withrunning.

Gritting my teeth against the desire to pour just one glass, I grabbed a book at random and settled into the couch. A click of the remote on the end table and the fireplace came to life, bathing the room in a soft, warmglow.

I’d read the book before, in high school, but I didn’t mind. Stretched out on the library couch, with one of Uncle Hugh’s favorite books in my hands, I felt at home for the first time inyears.

At home, but not relaxed. A shuffle of bare feet in the hall reached my ears, and every muscle in my body drew tight, prepared to act, only moments before a shadow fell in the doorway to thelibrary.

Chapter Three

Sophie

Icouldn’t sleep.I was used to it. Years had passed since I’d had a decent night’s rest. Before my marriage I’d been a champion sleeper, able to ignore the bright light of morning streaming into my bedroom and sleep until noon, then take a nap a few hours later. I used to love tosleep.

Marriage to Anthony cured me of that indulgent habit. I didn’t usually have trouble falling asleep. It was staying asleep that caused me problems. Like clockwork, I’d jerk awake in the middle of the night, my heart pounding, my mind caught in anightmare.

I’d sit in bed, gasping for breath, the memory of hard hands on my legs, dragging me from sleep, alive in mymind.

Anthony is gone, I’d remind myself. You’re safe now. Everything isokay.

I knew that was true. I was safe. Anthony was dead. In the six months that I’d been living at Winters House, those words were even more true. The Winters family had a high-tech security system. No one was getting into this house uninvited. I had nothing to fearhere.

I knew that. Well, the logical part of my brain knew it. The animal part of me, the part that knew what terror was…that part was afraid to trust insafety.

Once, I’d thought I was safe. I’d thought I was marrying the prince from a fairytale and had ended up in a nightmare. Two years had passed, and I still woke almost every night shaking in rememberedterror.

To be honest, I was sick of it. I was ready to move on. I was done with being damaged Sophie. Scared Sophie. Most of all, I was finished with victim Sophie. I’d made a mistake, trusted the wrongman.

How many other women could say the same? A ton. Anthony was dead, and I’d moved on. I had. I just needed my subconscious to move on withme.

For now, I strode down the halls of Winters House, my path lit by the moonlight streaming through the tall windows, considering whether I wanted to try the new tea Amelia had recommended for insomnia. I adored Amelia, but that tea smelled like something better left in the bottom of the trash can. Insomnia might be a better option if it tasted anything like itsmelled.

Flickering light caught my eye, for a second sending a bolt of fear through my chest. Fire. Winters House was on fire. Then I realized the smoke alarms would have gone off if it had been a real fire. At the very least, I would have smelled smoke. This was nothing more than someone forgetting to turn off the gas fireplace in the library before heading tobed.

I took a detour, intending to turn off the gas and the lights on my way to the kitchen, and stopped short. Gage Winters was stretched out on the leather sofa reading a book, the light of the fire flickering over his cheekbones. My heart kicked into a thumping beat at the sight ofhim.

Unlike our first meeting, this time he was relaxed, or as relaxed as I imagined Gage Winters ever was. Even at ease, lounging in front of the fire with a book, he gave off the same sense of barely leashed energy he had the night before. This was not a man who knew what it meant to chillout.

His blue eyes pinned me in place, scanning me in a slow pass from the top of my head to my bare feet, heating as they moved. His full lower lip curved into asmile.

“Do you have more paper bugs?” he asked in that deep, smoothvoice.

I shook my head,no.

“Another prank Amelia dreamed up? I heard the screams this afternoon. She must have beenhappy.”

I cleared my throat. “She was. Mrs. W has a very convincing scream. And she pretended to scold Amelia, which I think she secretlyenjoyed.”

Gage chuckled, the sound floating across the room, drawing out my own, smalllaugh.

“If you’re not setting up another of Amelia’s pranks, what are you doing awake in the middle of thenight?”

I was suddenly conscious of how I must look, wrapped in my oversized robe, my hair in a loose braid down my back. I dressed casually at Winters House—the family didn’t want me to wear a uniform—but a robe and bare feet were inappropriate. It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d run into anyone, despite my encounter with Gage the nightbefore.

Tightening the belt on my robe, I smoothed stray wisps of hair back from my face and said, “I’m sorry to interrupt you, I thought someone left the fireplace on. I was just going to make some tea. I’ll get out of yourway.”