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.
She heard an ice cube clink in a glass. The splash of liquid as he poured her drink. The soft thud of the cabinet lid being shut.
“Here you go.” Gage’s voice sounded over her left shoulder. “I added ice to yours to mellow it a bit. Would you like a seat?”
“No, thank you.” She accepted the glass he handed her, careful to avoid brushing his fingers with hers. She remembered all too well how his touch had affected her. “There’s no need to pretend this is a social visit.”
She crossed one arm over her midsection and lifted the glass to her nose, swirling the drink as she inhaled the fragrance of toasted vanilla and charred oak.
Neither of which quite captured her memory of the taste on Gage’s tongue when they kissed.
“I won’t lose sight of that anytime soon,” he assured her, gesturing toward the couch. “Sit.”
Unwilling to argue, she moved to the far end of the sofa and settled herself on a cushion. He joined her there, leaving a few feet between them. Settling his drink on the window ledge that butted up against the sofa back, he shifted sideways to face her. She did the same.
“Care to tell me why you’re here?” he asked, easing a finger beneath his bow tie to loosen it a fraction.
She remembered how much he disliked formal attire, even though his family’s living in the public eye had called for it. Then, when they’d been dating, he’d been building his portfolio as a venture capitalist, a role that often put him in business attire. And while these days his tremendous success and wealth surely allowed him to wear whatever he felt like, he was still frequently photographed in bespoke suits.
Not that she went out of her way to find out what he was doing. Given his success in Silicon Valley, his name periodically cropped up at the Hollywood parties she used to attend with Tomas.
And damn, but her memories had sent her thoughts on a wild ride. She refocused on his question.
“Based on the way you labeled me a professional menace, I’m fairly certain you already know why I’m here.” She’d been sure to fill her social media with posts about her trip to Montana so that Gage would hear of her impending arrival one way or another. “As an entertainment reporter, I saw an opportunity to unearth a story that readers want right now.”
“Since when do you work for the tabloids?”
She shrugged away the pain that came with thinking about that. “Since my faithless ex-husband tied up our assets with frivolous litigation in an effort to make my life miserable. I took a job that would net me enough quick cash to live on until things are settled.”
That narrative didn’t begin to cover the financial and emotional hardship of her contentious divorce. She’d made the mistake of thinking Tomas would behave like a grown-up and had moved out of the house immediately. Afterward, she’d discovered what a disadvantage it put her at to vacate their shared residence. She’d just wanted him to sign the paperwork and sever their ties. Only later did she realize how shortsighted she’d been to trust that Tomas would be fair.
“I’m sorry to hear about the divorce.” The empathy in Gage’s voice was real enough. His gaze flicked over her as he took a sip of his drink and returned the glass to the window ledge. Then his tone changed. “But there are only a million ways for one of the sharpest women I know to make a living. Why choose to upend other people’s lives to make a buck?”
“I won’t thank you for a backhanded compliment intended to make me feel guilty about my job.” Why she took it was none of his business. Although if ever there was a time in her life for work that allowed her an outlet for her disillusionment and bitterness, this was it. “For what it’s worth, I like to seek out targets for my work that deserve public censure.”
“You can’t possibly be suggesting that I fall into that category,” he replied, displeasure in his voice.
Gage Striker was a man who’d never known a moment’s doubt. A man who wouldn’t know how it felt to have the world think the worst of him. To have to fight for respectability.
She skirted around his comment, not ready to cross swords with him directly.
Yet.
“I was thinking more of Alonzo Salazar, whose tell-all book ruined lives. The man profited from real people’s heartbreak.” She shifted on the leather sofa to face Gage more directly and to retrieve her drink. The silk of her dress’s skirt swished against her calves, the velvet ruffle at the hem trailing over her foot as she crossed her legs.
Gage followed her movements with his gaze, making her far too aware of herself.
Of him.
“And yet it just so happens that pursuing the Alonzo Salazar story brought you to my doorstep.” He lowered his voice as he leaned closer. “That feels a little too convenient to be coincidence, doesn’t it?”
To put off answering, she sipped the bourbon, letting the flavors play over her tongue. A hint of caramel. A touch of smoke as she swallowed.
And then, there it was. The afterburn in her throat with a hint of cherry. The scent of leather. The flavor of the last kiss she remembered sharing with Gage.
“It’s decidedly inconvenient for me.” She resisted the urge to plant the cool glass against her forehead, as her skin warmed at his nearness and the memories of his mouth on hers. “My work here would be much easier if we didn’t have such an...acrimonious history.”
“Acrimonious,” he repeated. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“I wouldn’t say we’re friends. Would you?” She set the drink aside, knowing better than to play with fire.
“Far from it,” he agreed easily. “Which is the
