Mae tried to stay as quiet as she could as she used a wad of paper towels as a sponge—given that she’d destroyed Tallah’s only scrubber on the kitchen floor the night before. Looked like she was developing a track record for nervous cleaning—

At the sound of a creak, she froze and looked over at the refrigerator that barricaded the back door. When the sound didn’t repeat, she took a deep breath, and told herself that even though she couldn’t do anything about whatever was outside the cottage, goddamn it, she could wash and dry the mess in front of her.

When the rack got too full, she paused with the soaping-andrinsing and reached for a dish towel—

“Oh!” she gasped. “You’re up.”

Sahvage was leaning against the open door into the full bath, his arms crossed, his lids low as he studied her. He seemed bigger than ever before, but she was beginning to expect that knee-jerk impression. It seemed like anytime she saw him, she had to get used to his size all over again.

And that wasn’t the only thing that kept making a fresh impression. His eyes. His lips. His . . . hips.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” She started drying the pile she’d created. “I, well, cleanup is required if anyone wants to cook ever again.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. Just resting my eyes. Tallah up?”

“She usually doesn’t rise until midnight.” Mae smiled a little. “She believes in beauty sleep. It used to drive my mahmen nuts—well, anyway.”

“No, continue.”

Mae circled the towel around the inside of a sauté pan. “Tallah loved my mahmen. And it was very mutual. They were as different as could be, but they had a wonderful friendship that crossed the barriers of servant and mistress.”

“So Tallah must miss her.”

“I think she does, yes.”

There was a long silence. Then he said, “Listen, we need to talk about the elephant in the room.”

Mae had no intention for her eyes to travel down his body. But they did. And she didn’t mean for her face to flush. But it did. And she prayed he didn’t notice either of those.

But he did.

As Sahvage straightened from his lean, she swallowed hard and got real determined not to drop the pan in her hands. So she put it down.

Throughout the daylight hours, she’d had vivid dreams of him approaching her. Taking her into his arms. Lowering his lips to hers—

And every time, just before the kiss happened, the image disappeared. Over and over again. It was like a loop that wouldn’t stop, a tantalizing promise that never came to fruition.

A mirage that was ever on the brink, never on the actual.

Although with the way his hooded eyes were focused on her now, and how his body was moving toward her, and—

Sahvage walked past her and went back out into the parlor. Over next to the armchair he’d been in, he picked up the black duffle bag he’d always kept by him—and by the sounds of metal on metal, she knew what was inside.

Yet it was still a shock as he put things on the table and got to the unzipping.

“So many . . .” she whispered.

Weapons, she finished in her head.

Mae watched as his big hands went through the tangles of muzzles and stocks or whatever the hell you called them. There was ammunition in there, too, loose bullets that were long and pointy, and then boxes as well.

The gun he brought out was a small, handheld God-only-knew-what.

“This is a nine millimeter autoloader with a full magazine,” he said. “It has a laser sight. Point and shoot, literally. Using both hands. And make sure there’s nothing you care about behind whatever you’re aiming at. The safety is here. Off. On. You try.”

Under any other circumstances, she wouldn’t have gone anywhere near the thing. But Sahvage couldn’t possibly stay with them forever, and . . . well, that brunette, for one thing. That shadow, for another.

Mae’s hands were surprisingly steady as she accepted the weight from him. Then again, she wasn’t trying to do anything with the gun.

“Off. On,” she said as she mimicked his flicking of the safety.

“Here, let me take the magazine out.” After he removed a slide full of bullets, he gave the weapon back to her. “Do you see the button there on the grip. Squeeze it—that’s right, that’s your laser sight.”

Mae moved the red dot around the kitchen, steadying it on the GE logo of the refrigerator—and then the bathroom’s doorknob. After that, she picked out a pan in the drying rack and trained the beam on a chair.

“Keep the safety on at all times until you’re ready to shoot,” Sahvage said. “No holster, but you can tuck it into your pocket.”

“Even when I’m just in the house.”

“Yes. I would have given it to you before, but I didn’t want to alarm Tallah.” He nodded toward the bath. “I’m going in there to shower. Here, take the magazine, and put it back properly so you know what it’s like.”

She took the slide and reinserted it. “I’ve never shot a gun before. Well . . . alone, that is.”

“Hopefully, it won’t become a habit.”

Mae nodded and then cleared her throat. “Listen, I have to go back home—you know, to pick up some work stuff?”

“I can go with you—”

“No, no. I’m more worried about Tallah than myself.”

“That’s a bad assessment of reality.”

She cleared her throat and tried to be casual. “Look, can you just stay here? The ranch is protected, you said so yourself. Plus, if Tallah wakes up, I don’t want her to think we’ve abandoned her—or, worse, that something’s happened to me.”

“You have a cell phone. She can call you—”

“She’s not good with phones. Please, I won’t be gone long.”

Sahvage shook his head. But then shrugged. “I can’t stop you. But you’re going to take that with you.”

As he pointed at the weapon, she nodded. “Yes. I will.”

“Gimme a minute to have a shower. Then leave?”

“Absolutely.” She put her hands out to reassure him—and realized there was a gun in one of them. So she dropped her arms. “I mean, take your time.”

“I won’t be long,” he said as he disappeared into the little room and closed the door.

Left by herself, Mae sagged and wondered how she was going to get through the night. Then she thought about what Sahvage was doing and where he was doing it.

When Tallah had moved into the cottage, Mae’s father had retrofitted that first-floor bath with a modern shower—because she had insisted she might have guests. The guests had never materialized, so Mae wasn’t sure when the last time that showerhead had been called into service.

It seemed so strange to think this stranger was going to be the one to turn that faucet on.

In a way, it connected him with her father.

“I’m just going to do the dishes,” she murmured for no good reason to the closed door.

Which hadn’t closed. Not completely.

Mae opened her mouth to point out the six-inch gap to him—

Oh. Okay . . . ah, yeah. He was ditching his clothes really damned quick, the shirt doing an up-and-over, that skull with the fangs on his back making a shocking reappearance. With no tattoos on his arms, it was easy to forget all the ink he had.