Chapter 7

The first thing I felt was warmth. Not the sharp heat of desire, not the fevered burn of last night's frenzy, but something softer—a deep, steady warmth radiating from every point where his body touched mine. I surfaced from sleep slowly, like rising through honey, my senses returning one by one. The smell of him. Sandalwood and clean linen. The weight of his arm across my waist, heavy and possessive even in rest. The sound of his breathing, low and even, a rhythm I could feel in my own chest. I opened my eyes. Golden light filtered through the gauze curtains, painting the room in amber and cream. Dust motes floated in the beams, suspended like fragments of a dream. I had never seen this room in daylight. Last night it had been shadows and desperate whispers. This morning it was peaceful. Intimate. His. I turned my head slowly, not wanting to break the spell. He was awake. Arthur lay on his side, his head propped on his hand, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite name. His eyes—that steel gray—were soft, the hard edges smoothed away by the morning light. A faint smile touched his lips when he