He’d been dreaming for so long of holding her this way again.
He closed his eyes so that he couldn’t see the differences in her. He could almost imagine that he was holding his Page again.
The little sound she made when his hand closed over her breast was familiar, as was the ragged cadence of her breathing when he pressed his open mouth to her throat. He remembered every detail as clearly as though it had been only yesterday since he’d last held her.
Hurt, anger and bitterness faded, overshadowed by the heat of passion. Gabe didn’t want to acknowledge any feelings beyond desire.
Anything else was simply too painful to contemplate at the moment.
“Page,” he muttered, burying his face in her throat. “It’s been so damned long.”
Her fingers tightened in his hair. Her chest heaved .beneath him.
It took him a moment to realize that she was crying.
He lifted his head. She turned her face away, but not before he saw her tormented expression.
Deep sobs racked her. The utter hopelessness of the sounds she made tore at his heart.
“Page, talk to me,” he asked one more time.
Her only response was to curl tightly into herself and cry harder. Gabe suspected that it had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to break down.
He rolled to his side and pulled her into his arms. She resisted for a moment, but then allowed him to press her head into his shoulder. He held her while she cried as though her heart were broken.
His own eyes felt suspiciously damp. Whatever the reasons for her behavior, it was obvious that she was in terrible pain. She felt so slight and vulnerable in his arms. She’d been so very much alone..
For the first time since he’d found her again, he concentrated solely on her feelings instead of his own. And he realized that he wasn’t the only one who’d suffered during the past two and a half years.
“Let me help you, Page,” he murmured, stroking her, hair. “You don’t have to be alone any longer. Tell me what’s going on so I’ll know how to help.”
“I can’t,” she whispered, her breath hitching pitifully. “I can’t—I won’t take that risk.”
“Tell me,” he insisted. “Whatever it is, we can deal with it together. You can’t go on like this—and neither can I.”
He wiped her wet face gently with his hand and gazed into her tear-filled eyes. He held his breath as she parted her lips, looking as though she wanted to speak but was afraid to do so. He willed her to overcome the fear, to finally answer the questions that had been burning inside him for so long.
She cleared her throat. “I—”
Gabe groaned in frustration when the cellular phone on the nightstand suddenly chirped, shattering the intimacy between them. Page’s expression grew shuttered, and she fell silent, looking away from him.
Gabe swu
ng his feet to the floor. He snatched up the phone as it rang again, flipped it open and snapped, “What?”
“Detective James K. Pratt is dead,” Blake said without preface. “He died in a rather mysterious car accident sixteen months ago, leaving a young widow and twin toddlers. My sources say he was working a case on his own time, but no one seems to know exactly what it was.”
“Pratt’s dead.” Gabe rubbed a hand over his face as he repeated the news, wondering how many other walls he would slam into before this was all over.
Why had Page been carrying the card of a dead police officer? What did she know about his death, or the case he’d supposedly been investigating?
What the hell was going on with her?
“That’s all I’ve found out so far,” Blake concluded. “I’m going to try to get some more details about his last case—unless you need me there?”
“No. Everything’s under control here,” Gabe lied. “Call me when you find something else.”
Gabe closed the phone and turned to Page, who was moving toward the end of the bed again. “Where are you going?”