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I shift onto my elbow, ignoring the pain in my neck from sleeping on a throw pillow. “Raegan?”

She approaches without a word and stops next to the sofa. Her hair is braided over one shoulder after her bath, an oversized T-shirt covering her body.

“How much is sleeping on that couch killing you?” she murmurs.

“Never better,” I lie.

In the dark, I can’t see her face, but she holds out a hand. I lace my fingers through hers, running my thumb across her skin.

“C’mon.” Rae tugs me to standing.

I’m awake in an instant, following her toward the bedroom. I fell asleep in shorts, my suit draped across a chair. The hairs on my chest lift in the cool air as we cross to the bed.

My eyes adjusting to the dark, I stare at the dent on the right side of the king bed and chuckle.

“We sleep on the same side, don’t we?” she asks.

“It would be too easy if we didn’t.” I stroke her hand with my thumb. “I’ll wrestle you for it.”

This time it’s definitely a laugh.

She turns toward me, our hands still linked.

“Tell me how to help you,” I murmur.

She’s quiet a moment, as if no one’s ever asked her that. “After a show, I can lie awake for hours. Sometimes, in my head, I wind up back at that party as a teenager. No matter how many years or gigs or miles I put between myself and that night, I can’t forget it. I don’t want to be there. I want to be here, with you.”

I’ve always needed purpose, and the trust on her face gives me a new one.

I inch closer until she’s a breath away. She doesn’t move.

My lips caress hers. Gentle, simple, without the intent to tease or arouse. She sighs against me, her palm flattening against my bare abs, making me tighten under her touch.

I kiss her like I’ve never kissed a woman, but then everything is a challenge with her. Even taking things slow with her is torture. Her tongue brushes mine, and my cock hardens.

I meant what I said. Something did change tonight.

Just not what she thought.

I back her toward the bed until her knees hit the sheets.

She breaks our kiss. “You still want me.”

There’s no inflection at the end, but it’s a question. Every inch of her body, the trembling of her lips, tells me it is.

“I wake up wanting you.” I drag the shirt over her head. “I go to sleep wanting you.”

Her soft curves have me aching, and I slide my hands to touch her breasts with nothing between us.

“I breathe, I fucking want you.”

Her eyes are wide, cheeks flushed, and lips already bruised from mine. “Show me.”

I don’t know how to fix her, but there’s nothing to be fixed. She’s made the way she is. Like me, she’s a combination of everything that’s happened to her.

She’s not broken. She’s beautiful.

A piece of art as exquisite for its flaws as its perfections.