“Your mind is too busy, too crowded.” Hell, he could see the wheels turning every time he looked at her. Unable to resist, he reached out and stroked the back of her hair. It was soft, springier than his, and his finger got caught in a curl.

“Do you sing?” she asked, shifting back slightly so she was closer to him.

The bed was getting warm and he was getting sleepy himself. “I love to sing. I’m just not all that good at it.”

“But you’re an artist, a musician. I bet you sing better than you think you do.”

He wasn’t being modest. He really couldn’t sing. “No, I don’t.” No matter how hard he tried, his voice was flat. He could hear music, could coax the piano to provide the right sound, but his voice was incapable of hitting the notes.

“You have to sing for me sometime,” she said, her words trailing off into a big yawn. “I want you to play ‘Beth’ by Kiss on the piano and sing it for me.”

Gabriel laughed softly. “I can do that if we download the sheet music.” She’d regret it, but it wouldn’t be a bad regret, not like another could be if he gave her what they both really wanted. “Why Kiss?”

“Because it’s the first song that popped into my head that has piano in it. My mom was a huge Kiss fan.”

“I see.”

“Gabriel?”

“Yes?” He forced himself to remove his hand from her head, though he snuck in one last stroke, pulling her blond strands out in front of him and letting them fall down onto her back.

“Nothing.” Her words were mumbled.

Disappointed, wishing she had said whatever she’d been thinking, he waited. Then realized that Sara was in the first vestiges of sleep, little rushes of air coming from her mouth. Her body was tense still, shoulders tight, arms clasped in front of her, knees jutting out.

She wouldn’t sleep long like that.

When he did a cursory sweep of her thoughts, sort of a surface scan, not wanting to violate her privacy, Gabriel saw and felt nothing but anxiety from her. She was worried. About Rafe. About him, Gabriel. About the kitten. About Rochelle. About herself. About her friend Jocelyn. About her mother’s father. About her job. About Anne Donovan.

It was no wonder she couldn’t sleep.

So Gabriel leaned over Sara and touched her forehead, her temple, caressing her cheek with his finger, quieting her worries, banishing her anxieties, filling her with warmth, with pleasant dreamy thoughts.

“I’ve fallen in love with you,” he whispered, brushing his lips across the bare skin of her shoulder where her tank top had slipped.

She gave a shuddery sigh in her sleep, and Gabriel reluctantly pulled back.

He’d given her what he could.

Now he just wanted to watch her sleep.