Automatically, he pressed closer and pulled her tighter against him. The scent of vanilla invaded his senses as silky hair tickled his mouth. “Sage,” he mumbled. “Hmm?” came her sleepy answer. His eyes snapped open. Holy shit. He was in bed with Sage, and he was feeling her up. He let go of her breast like it was burning piece of coal . Which might not be far from the truth, because he was seriously hot, seriously overheated and in need of a cold shower. Rolling away from her, he grimaced. He scrubbed at his face, then rubbed his eyes. What a way to repay the woman who’d helped get him through the night. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d woken up sweating and grasping for his sanity. Sage had been there every time, whispering words of comfort and tenderly wiping his face with a cool cloth. Not one time had she tried to get him to talk about what was keeping him up. There was the very real possibility that he might never share those nightmares with her, even if she knew the underlying cause—Sanford’s death.
