She thrust those thoughts from her mind as Gage led her from the party to a quiet corner at the opposite end of the house. The sound of music faded as they entered a gray stone corridor illuminated by recessed lights in the pale wood ceiling. The building materials were sleek and expensive looking, the walls mostly unadorned. Even the floors were free of rugs; her high heels echoed in the wide hallway.

They soon arrived in a sitting room with a gray stone fireplace. Or maybe it was an office. She realized the mammoth glass-topped table with steel legs was actually a desk. There was a deep leather couch tucked against one wall and a television screen mounted on the one opposite.

The surroundings were as cold and unwelcoming as her host.

Gage closed the double doors behind them and then turned to face her. The room was soundproof; you’d never know a noisy party was taking place in another section of the house.

“Do you care to tell me what you’re doing here?” he asked her now, his brown eyes unreadable as he studied her by the light of two ultramodern chandeliers with sleek white glass spokes. “Or would you like me to get you a drink first?”

The angles of his face were more prominent than she remembered, from the square jaw and high cheekbones to the slash of his widow’s peak. His face was shadowed with a few days’ growth of neatly groomed beard. He went to a built-in gray cabinet beneath the television screen, raising the wooden lid to reveal a wet bar. There was a small selection of the best whiskeys the world had to offer, cut crystal glasses stacked to one side.

“I’ve had a challenging year, but I haven’t resorted to bourbon yet.” She didn’t tend to drink hard liquor after seeing what alcohol had done to her mother. “But please, help yourself if you like.”

While he poured from the only decanted bottle, Elena had a vivid memory of what Gage’s preferred bourbon tasted like on his tongue when he kissed her. The memory—so sudden and visceral it shocked her—sent an unwelcome flash of heat through her. Her skin tightened uncomfortably, and she fought the urge to pace away from him.

To find some breathing room on the other side of this hard-surfaced echo chamber that passed as living space in Gage’s world.

But she couldn’t afford to give away how much his nearness rattled her.

“On second thought,” she mused aloud, thinking this man and the memories he evoked posed a more immediate threat to her mental well-being than any spirit, “maybe a small taste couldn’t hurt.”

He glanced her way, but she didn’t allow herself to meet his eyes. She pretended a sudden interest in the flames of the fireplace while she tried to pull herself together.