When Gabriel’s phone rang, he did not snarl at it. Did not need to fight the urge to hurl it into the wall. He simply opened one eye and waited for it to stop. When it did, he opened the other and looked down at Olivia, curled up in his arms.

He liked this. Liked it more than he would have imagined. The touching, the entwining, the closeness. The heat of her body, the smell of her skin, the soft whisper of her breathing, the pound of her heart. It made him feel…He wasn’t sure what word fit best there. Secure? Comforted? Quieted? The choices all seemed odd, when applied to a lover. But he felt all that, curled up with her.

It was not dissimilar to the sense he used to get at the end of the day, when he closed the door and shut the world out and could just relax, be himself in his one safe spot. Something had been amiss, though, adding a restlessness and dissatisfaction that he’d never been able to pin down. Now he realized what it’d been. Loneliness. The sense that the only thing better than being alone would be to be with someone who made you feel as safe and comfortable as you did when you were alone.

He rose on his elbow to look down at Olivia. To savor the image of her in his bed. The realization of yet another fantasy he’d indulged in more times than he cared to recollect. It seemed an odd thing to fantasize about, compared to all the other, more active scenarios. But this was one of his, like seeing her wearing his shirt.

He’d had a taste of this particular fantasy already, letting her take his bed when she stayed the night. Again, he’d enjoyed that more than he ought to. There was a primitive quality to the fantasy, the idea that even if she’d been with Ricky, she’d been sleeping in his bed.

A little more proprietary than he should admit to. Not a sense of property, but a sense of place—that having Olivia in his bed said she held a spot in his life no one else could breach. She was important enough that he’d give up his most private sanctuary to her.

His phone started again. That did get a growl from him, less at the interruption than the reminder that it really was time to get up.

He eased Olivia aside, crawled from bed, and picked up his phone just before it went to voice mail. Only as he hit the Talk button did he see a number he didn’t recognize and grunt, annoyed that he hadn’t checked first. In that light, his greeting may have been even more curt than usual.

“Uh, sorry?” Ricky said. “Bad time?”

“No. I didn’t recognize the number.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Phone issues. You know.”