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corner of his mouth, proof that his bride-to-be had given a definite tug to his libido.
    Gabe could relate. His own libido had been held fast like a fish on a line from the moment he’d woken in Cassandra’s bed. The damn thing wasn’t going to stop jerking him around until he figured out exactly what had happened between those sheets.
    He’d thought a kiss might stir his memory.
    That wasn’t exactly the part of him that felt stirred up right now, though. He slid Cassandra another glance, but she was still staring at a two-by-two section of plaster behind his back. Truth to tell, he was a touch poleaxed himself, which was just damn crazy.
    The kiss had been brief. Broken off by a needle jab.
    And, as far as he could tell, completely unfamiliar.
    He’d swear he’d never before tasted such soft, sweet heat.
    Shoving his hands through his hair, he crossed to the back of the shop. There, he stared out the back doors and considered the drop from the balcony to the ocean. He’d thought about it before, but at low tide a leap would land a man on soft sand. At high tide it would be nothing more lethal than a jump from a high dive.
    Neither idea was the least bit tempting now, not even if they’d been more daring, not when the mystery of last night wouldn’t let him go. He just could not believe that he’d gone to bed with Cassandra. If he had, how could he have blocked out such a thing? It was hard to imagine, just as it was hard to imagine that he would have let himself go that far. For months he’d worked so hard at being so damn cautious around her, never letting on that he was fascinated with her mouth, her rippling hair, her spectacular breasts and ass.
    Not once had he ever let her know he’d sell his black soul—that not even the devil seemed to consider worth buying—for the chance to bury himself between her thighs. He hadn’t done that to Cassandra—who was like a nun, and a little sister, and the closest to a friend he had—because she deserved a whole man, a bright-white love, a passion un-besmirched by the ashes that were the only thing left of Gabe’s heart.
    The air stirred around him. He glanced over, seeing Jay beside him and noting the other man’s perfectly layered hair and his impeccable shave. A wave of odd embarrassment moved through Gabe, and he smoothed a self-conscious hand over his scruffy hair. He remembered the cut on his chin from the dull razor he’d scraped over his face before coming to the yarn shop.
    “Cookie didn’t injure you, did she?”
    “No.” He hesitated. “But I’m picking up on the fact that I might not be her favorite person.”
    Jay glanced over his shoulder, and then Gabe did, too. A couple of women had come into the shop and Nikki was chatting them up. Cassandra still wore that spacey expression, but she was moving toward the customers.
    “Look,” Jay said, “I’m going to be honest, Gabe.”
    He braced himself. Though he’d not gone looking to make friends in Malibu, thanks to Cassandra and her relent lessness, he’d spent time with her sisters and the men in their lives. He respected Juliet’s Noah as well as Nikki’s fiancé, Jay. “Go ahead and get it off your chest.”
    “Here’s the deal. We all worry about her going out at night.”
    To collect Gabe from bars, the other man meant. “Hey, I never expected—”
    “The first couple of times you did some drunk-dialing. After that, the barkeeps have gone ahead and called her themselves when your situation turns south. I don’t know how many seedy joints she’s visited after last call the past year or so.”
    “It’s not all that often.” As a matter of fact, his “lost weekends” had tapered off considerably in the last few months.
    “It’s enough,” Jay answered flatly. “And not every drunk she meets in those places is harmless.”
    Shit. Gabe jerked left to stare at the other man, his stomach suddenly churning. For a second he worried it might be like Zuma, when he’d upchucked