Sara protested, but the woman was determined, and thirty seconds later, she had Sara next to her out on the dance floor. For a second, Gabriel thought Sara would bolt and head back to her stool, but her shoulders relaxed and she swayed to the music, laughing with her new companion.

Then she was dancing, hair sliding forward, hips moving in her short denim skirt, arms out at her sides. Gabriel stared, his mouth dry, as the lights from the stage turned and reflected over Sara, as she gave herself up to the rhythm of the music. Her smile was full, genuine, and she glanced back at him, shrugging in amusement.

It was arousing to watch her come alive, to shrug off her reticence and embrace the entertainment. To put herself on display and not worry what everyone was thinking. Gabriel suspected she was never like this, not anymore. Not since her mother’s death.

She was beautiful, tantalizing.

He hadn’t had sex in seventy-five years, and his body wanted her aggressively, painfully.

He couldn’t have her.

“John, where are you going?”

Gabriel glanced back at Molly, who had sat up in her bed, her hair disheveled, her face anxious. She was pretty and enthusiastic,and he’d had her twice that night, a desperate attemptto soak his senses with pleasure and forget. Eradicate the horrific memory of Anne, mutilated and still, from his mind.

But Molly was getting clingy. “I’m going home.”

“No!” She leaped off the mattress with a dexterity that was impressive given she was naked and tangled in bedsheets.

Gabriel hastened to pull his trousers on, head pounding, hands shaking. He needed a drink. His own bed. Now that he had sated his physical needs, the sound of Molly’s voice grated on his nerves, and he wanted to be alone with his absinthe,wanted to climb to a higher place, then crash down into his bed and sleep until he could find the strength to open his eyes and start this all over again.

“Spend the night, Johnny. I’ll make it so worth your while.” Her fingers slid across his chest and her mouth came toward his.

Turning his head to avoid her lips, he reached for his shirt. It was smothering, this kind of attention, devotion. She hadn’t seemed such an emotional sort when he’d taken up with her, more out of convenience and opportunity than any real interest.

“No, I’m going home.”

She burst into tears, loud and wet, and he was appalled. Molly stood there, stark naked, her rosy breasts heaving up and down, her hands reaching for him, eyes pleading. “Say you’re coming back tomorrow.”

“I don’t know.” He shoved his arms into his wrinkled shirt-sleeves.“I don’t know.”