After another few seconds, I pulled back. His gaze was hooded. I rested a hand to the side of his face. “What happened to you?”

He shook his head, pulling completely away. “I can’t tell you.”

There it was. Again.

“Of course.”

He shot me a look, but didn’t say anything.

I turned to the kitchen. “Do you want a drink?”

“God, yes.”

I could hear how tired he was, and a part of me ached for him. “Tequila? Rum? Something harder?”

He’d gone to the couch, laying his head on the back. He rolled it to look at me. “Whiskey?”

My heart leapt for a brief moment, and I had to pause. It felt right to have him there, sitting on my couch, waiting for me. I reached for the closest bottle, and my hands gripped it tightly, like I needed something to hold on to. That shouldn’t be happening, the sensation of him being at home, like a piece of the puzzle had been put in place to complete the picture.

I felt a lump form at the bottom of my throat, but I asked around it, my voice hoarse, “You want to burn tonight?”

“It’s better than what I’m feeling right now.”

Instead of one glass, I pulled out two, and I pushed my wine aside. Whatever had happened, it was heavy. I went over and settled on the couch beside him, the bottle and two glasses in hand.

“Thank you.” His voice was soft.

He sat up and took the bottle and glasses from me, placing them on the coffee table. He poured for both of us. The liquid covered the bottom third of the glass, and after a good whiff, it cleared my nose right up.

“You’re right. This is going to be painful.”

He gave me a sideways grin. “I know why I’m drinking. Why are you?”

“You’re not the only one with ghosts.”

I didn’t wait for his reaction. I closed my eyes and threw it back, hissing as I felt the burn in my throat. Damn. I wanted another. I held the glass out. Cole took it, his soft chuckle blanketing me as he poured another shot.

He downed his, then leaned back to sip the next glass. He had no reaction when he drank. Nothing. I watched him, but the dullness in his eyes never lifted. He didn’t wince. It could’ve been water.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but things got away from me, and…” He hesitated before saying, “I lost a friend today. That’s where I’ve been, taking care of…” Another hesitation. “Things for him.”

He wanted to say more. I could feel it, but he couldn’t. I sat back beside him, my knees pulled up, and I clutched my glass in front of me.

“A close friend?” Was that why Ken was gone from the office below? Did he know this person, too? Was that why Dorian hadn’t been happy both times I saw him?

He nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” He finished the rest of his second drink, wincing slightly. “It’s hard to not say anything to you. What I do…”

I waited. I’d been waiting since I first saw him.

“What I do is dangerous. That’s why I can’t tell you, at least not yet. I know it’s not fair.” He waved around my living room. “I show up here, and you’re supposed to comfort me without knowing anything? It’s unfair of me, but I didn’t want to go anywhere else. This felt right.” He looked up, his eyes boring into me. “Coming to you felt right.”

I couldn’t look away from him, nor did I want to. I held tight to the glass in my hand, and I said the only thing I was thinking at that moment. “I’m glad you came.”

“Thank you.” His hand rested on my leg.

His hand seared through my thin silk pants. I had changed into something soft and comfortable when I got back. I was now aware of just how thin the cloth was, and that I was only wearing a tank top, one that was loose but showing too much. I wasn’t self-conscious, but my body was already yearning for him. It wasn’t a live flame, like it had been last night, but a slow broil. It was there. It was heating up, but it was containable.

I glanced down at my glass. “You’re here. You’re hurting, and normally, I would ask what happened, and you’d tell me. We could go from there, but that’s not the case. And I’m…I’m at a loss for what to say.”

He cleared his throat. “You mentioned a husband?”

I looked back up. His eyes were sparkling from the moonlight behind me. The rest of his face was shadowed.

“Liam. Yeah. He died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

Another moment of silence. Cole began running one finger up and down my leg, moving over my thigh. “He was loyal. I’ve had people, people who should be loyal to me, plot against me. He was one of the good ones.”

“Did you know him long?”

His gaze was on me, weighing before he answered. “I guess so. I knew him when I was younger. Then I went away and didn’t know anyone from my old life. That changed a year ago. He’s been by my side since.”

“Was Dorian close to him?”

Cole nodded. “Ken knew him, too.”

I grinned. “I thought I was the only one to call him Ken.”

“No.” Cole smiled. “Some people call him Kenny even.”

“He wasn’t downstairs tonight.”

“He was with me. I was telling him about—” Cole hesitated. “—about our friend.”