“No.” Now he could see her, a young girl with dark hair and light eyes, trembling in the dark. “It wouldn’t have hurt.”

“He used to like to look at my perfume bottles. He liked the colors and the shapes. I bought him crayons. He always liked to draw pictures.”

“You got him a stuffed dog.”

“He liked to watch the dogs being walked in the park. He was so sweet when I gave it to him. He carried it around everywhere. He slept with it.”

“You fell in love with him.”

“I loved him so much. I don’t know how it happened. It was only a few weeks.”

“Time doesn’t always factor in.” He skimmed her hair back so he could see her profile. The curve of her cheek, the angle of her brow. “It doesn’t always play a part.”

“It’s supposed to, but it didn’t. I didn’t care that she took my things. I didn’t care that she stole from me when she left. But she took him. She didn’t even let me say good-bye to him. She took him, and she left his little dog because she knew it would hurt me. She knew I would think about him crying for it at night, and worry. So I had to stop. I had to stop thinking about it. I had to stop thinking about him.”

“It’s all right. That part’s all over now.” He stroked gently, nudging her closer to sleep. “She won’t hurt Seth anymore. Or you.”

“I was stupid.”

“No, you weren’t.” He stroked her neck, her shoulders, felt her body rise and fall on a long, long sigh. “Go to sleep.”

“Don’t go.”

“No, I’m not.” He frowned at how fragile the nape of her neck looked under his fingers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And that was a problem, he realized as he smoothed his hands down her arms, over her back. He wanted to stay with her, to be with her. He wanted to watch her sleep just the way she was sleeping now, deep and still. He wanted to be the one who held her when she cried, for he doubted that she cried often, or that she had anyone to hold her when she did.

He wanted to watch those quiet lake eyes of hers go bright with laughter, that lovely, soft mouth curve with it. He could spend hours listening to the way her voice changed tones, from warm amusement to prim formality to earnestness.

He liked the way she looked in the morning, vaguely surprised to see him beside her. And at night, with pleasure and passion flickering over her face.

She hadn’t a clue how revealing that face was, he thought, as he tugged down the covers, shifting her until he could spread them over her. Oh, it was subtle, like her scent. A man had to get close, very close, before he understood. But he’d gotten close, very close, without either of them realizing it. And he’d seen the way she’d watched his family, with wistfulness, with yearning.