Chapter 7

The salt air had seeped into the very fibers of the wool blankets, carrying the sharp, briny scent of the Atlantic that battered the base of the cliff below us. I blinked against the pale, golden light filtering through the thick curtains of the lighthouse keeper’s quarters. It was late morning, the sun having climbed high enough to burn off the heavy mist that usually clung to the rocky coast, leaving the world outside bright and blindingly clear. But here, inside the circular room with its curved walls and the massive bed that dominated the center, the light was soft, diffuse, and warm. I didn’t move immediately. I let myself linger in the heavy, drugged state of sleep that followed a night of intense, consuming passion. My body felt like lead, pleasantly exhausted, every muscle in my limbs loose and pliant. I was curled into his side, my head resting on the broad expanse of his chest, right over the steady, powerful thrum of his heart. I could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, deep and rhythmic, syncing with my own. His arm was a heavy, warm weight across my waist, holding me in place, anchoring me to