“When he calls,” she said, “I’ll speak with him. Not in person—but I’ll talk on the phone.” Just having said it, she felt a little stronger, not quite as helpless.

“When he calls,” Casey echoed, “I’ll tell him you’re willing to talk. But I’ll make him call back at a specified time—no need for him to know exactly how close you and I are. Proximity-wise, I mean,” he added quickly.

She nodded.

Casey leaned closer, his shoulder bumping hers. “You okay?”

“I’m scared,” she admitted. And of so much more than you could guess.

“I won’t let him hurt you—you or Mercy. I promise you that.”

“I know.” Promise me no matter what he might say to you, you won’t turn your back on me. Far too much to ask, though, and she knew it. She stretched out on the bed, and Casey did the same. She wondered how close their hands might be, and whether the body heat she sensed was a figment or not.

Casey cleared his throat, spoke to the ceiling. “Can I ask you something that’s none of my business?”

“I guess so.”

After a pause, “How did you wind up with him, to begin with?” He turned his head to catch her eye.

Fudge. “We met during a really . . . hard period of my life. I guess I needed somebody strong, when I was feeling so weak. And I mistook violence for strength.”

“You swear to God he never hurt you?”

She shook her head, hair mussing against the pillow.

“Doesn’t have to leave a mark on the outside to count as abuse, you know.”

She bit her lip, then spoke a grain of truth. “I’ve never had the best instincts, when it comes to guys.”

“How so?”

“I guess I’m just one of those stupid girls who’s always falling for the bad boy or whatever.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“I’m not all that wise, either. If I was, maybe I’d learn from my mistakes.” Though she was learning, she reminded herself. She’d been weak the other night and let her old urges propel her into Casey’s arms, but she was smart enough now to at least realize what a bad idea that had been.

“It’s never too late to start.” Casey fell silent for a long moment, then spoke softly. “I need to say something to you.”

“What?”

He stared up at the beams. “I lied to you, yesterday morning. Sort of.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t remember what I said, about what happened between us. The kissing. Probably something about it not needing to be a big deal.” He turned his face to hers once more. “But it did mean something. To me. Something more than just . . . you know. What it was.”

Her heart was beating hard all at once, body warm, hopes rising. “Me, too.”

“You and I can’t—or shouldn’t—date. For a dozen good reasons. Most importantly, because I don’t have what it takes to be any kind of role model to your daughter.”

“Oh.” And here she’d been expecting the lame, most obvious argument about him being her boss. “You don’t have to explain . . . even if I can’t quite see why you think that. You’ve been wonderful with her, since the night she was born.”

“It’s complicated. But it boils down to the fact that I don’t know where I’ll be in a few years.”

“Who does, really?” She kept her words casual, voice light, though inside she felt all coiled up with hope and desperation, aching to beg him to change his mind. To think they stood some kind of chance. In a blink, all that wanting was back. At least this time, with this man, it was real. A genuine, deeply physical attraction, and not some ploy to attach herself to a guy for the sake of having somewhere to stay and somebody to protect her. Casey had been looking out for her for weeks before they’d ever kissed, and any money she got from him, she earned. They couldn’t be anything serious—on that they agreed, even if she didn’t entirely understand his reasons.

Where exactly did that leave them, though?

He sighed heavily and turned onto his side, gaze dropping to the covers or her arm.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said. “I’m only curious. Like, is this to do with whatever you used to do for money?” She doubted that whatever his old, shady dealings had been, they could be worse than gunrunning. If anything, she didn’t want to know. Not if they were never going to be something real, anyhow.

“It’s nothing to do with that,” Casey said. “My future’s just uncertain.”

It was obvious there was something he wasn’t telling her, something important. But there was plenty she wasn’t saying, either—things she planned never to share with him. Maybe it was selfishness; maybe it was self-preservation. Maybe it was wrong and deceptive and toxic to do so, but it was also a survival instinct. Maybe it was because the opening up of closets was a ritual reserved for couples.

Whatever the case, Christ in heaven, she was tired of secrets. Keeping them was like lugging a hundred pounds of armor around with you. Secrets kept people apart, even as they might stand side by side . . . Or lie in the same bed, she thought, letting herself register just how close their bodies were. She remembered the taste of his kiss, the feel of his mouth. The heat and insistence of him when she’d touched him there. She flushed.

“So the other night meant something,” Abilene whispered at length. “Was there more to that thought?”

He swallowed, gaze moving to her face.

“It meant something,” she said. “But we can’t ever be serious. So what does that leave?”

“Aside from sexual frustration?” he asked, then smiled, tempering all the seriousness.

“I was never after forever with you,” she said, realizing it was the truth. “I know I come with more baggage than most men are willing to take on.” She’d only wanted a taste of what romance could feel like, with someone who treated her as Casey did. Just a taste. She’d had that now, though her body still wanted more, wanted to take things further, feel it all.

“That’s not—”

She shook her head, in no need of whatever he’d been about to offer—a contradiction, an excuse, an apology. None of them mattered. “I only wanted to know what it would feel like, with you. With somebody who makes me feel what you do. Even for just a little while. A week or a day, or a single night. Just for as long as that kiss lasted.”

Even in the dimness, she could see him blushing. It made her bold. Here was the moment when her selective and self-serving bravery did kick in—when a man tipped his hand, offered a little peek at his cards. When she could sense that a woman’s body just might trump a guy’s best intentions.

And it always does, doesn’t it?

“You can’t make any promises,” she murmured, turning onto her side to face him fully. “And I don’t have any expectations. That makes us sound awful compatible just now—don’t you think?”

He swallowed, gaze seeking her eyes, her mouth, her breasts.

“I liked everything that happened the other night,” she said, meeting his eyes on the final word. “Everything except for when it stopped.”

Again, he swallowed, lips parting and looking fuller. Surely this professional gambler had a poker face to be reckoned with, but just now he was an open book. “Did you?”

She nodded.

“So did I,” he said. “More than I thought I should tell you.”

“I’m not as delicate as you think I am.” She might wind up with a broken heart at the end of this non-courtship, but she’d lived through far worse.

He edged nearer, and she thrilled when his knee nudged hers. She opened her legs, welcoming his warm, heavy thigh. The contact was more sweet than sexy, matching the caution on his handsome face. She scooted close. He cupped her cheek and studied her lips for a long moment before meeting them with his own.

Her eyes shut, and she felt his collar in her grip, the top button of his shirt, a soft tease of chest hair against her knuckles. She wanted his shirt gone, and a chance to touch the unknown planes of his body. Wanted him completely naked, and excited. Wanted him hard and hot and begging for her.