She hadn’t seen that coming, hadn’t understood how truly desperate Rochelle had been, and she had actually told Gabriel he shouldn’t follow after the girl. Now she knew that they would have probably found Rochelle dead in the passageway in the morning if Gabriel hadn’t had the compassion to go after her.

His face had been so intense, so rigid, so filled with self-condemnation when he had looked up at her, Rochelle slack against his chest, her blood smeared on his bare chest and forearms, that Sara had actually been frightened. It had made her realize she didn’t know exactly what had happened to Gabriel’s girlfriend, only that he clearly still lived with the damage from the tragedy every day, just like she did.

Interesting, though, that neither of them had chosen the out that Rochelle had. Sara had never wanted to die.

But maybe she and Gabriel had been slowly killing themselves with sleeping pills, alcohol, guilt, anguish.

She didn’t want that for herself or for him. She wanted to live, to breathe in at the start of a new day and look forward to what was ahead.

Finding a spot on Dumaine, which she was starting to realize was a miracle in the French Quarter, she pulled in and then readjusted her car to be aligned better. The day was already hot, even though it was barely eight in the morning. It was quiet, the sound of water dripping down from the recently watered potted plants on the balcony above creating a rhythmic and soothing pattern. Sara stepped out and tipped her head left and right, trying to release the tension in her neck. Eventually when Gabriel got home, they were going to have to talk about Rochelle. Try to process what the hell had happened. And acknowledge what Rochelle had interrupted.

What had seemed so logical and reasonable when she’d been drunk now had her blushing in the daylight. She would have sworn on a stack of Bibles at the time that she wasn’t drunk, and her thoughts had been so clear, her actions so natural, that she hadn’t hesitated to touch herself in front of him. It had been right, good, sexy as hell. Last night.

Today she was feeling a bit like she wanted to run away and never be seen by Gabriel again, clothed or unclothed. God, what had she been thinking? He had told her straight-out he couldn’t get involved with her, couldn’t have sex with her. So her solution was to masturbate in front of him? Nothing about that made sense.

But it had been sexy. And he had liked it. She felt warm just remembering the look in his eye, the sound of his music swelling around her, the way he had grabbed her and tossed her on the piano. His tongue inside her.