Chapter 7

The sunlight didn’t just enter the room; it invaded it. It poured through the sheer, floor-to-ceiling curtains of the penthouse suite, a golden, dusty haze that cut through the lingering scent of expensive cologne and the deeper, muskier scent of our own sweat. My head throbbed, a dull, rhythmic pulse behind my eyes that matched the slow, steady beat of his heart against my cheek. I was nestled in the crook of his arm, my body curled like a question mark against his chest, tangled in sheets that cost more than my first car. I hadn’t slept. Not really. I had drifted in and out of a heavy, dreamless doze, anchored by the weight of him. When I finally opened my eyes, the world was soft at the edges. The ceiling was white, pristine, untouched by the chaos of the previous night. And there he was, watching me. His dark eyes were open, focused entirely on my face, tracing the line of my jaw, the flutter of my lashes, the way my lips parted slightly as I tried to find my breath. "Good morning, baby girl," he murmured. His voice was a low rumble, rough with sleep but laced with