Chapter 7

The silence of the room was not empty; it was heavy, saturated with the scent of expensive linen, lingering champagne, and the musky, primal aroma of us. My eyelids fluttered open, resisting the morning light that filtered through the sheer curtains of the penthouse suite at the country club. For a moment, disorientation clouded my mind, a fog of exhaustion and euphoria. Then, the weight on my chest shifted. A large, warm hand rested gently over my heart, its thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles against my bare skin. I turned my head, burying my face into the crook of his neck. He was already awake, or perhaps he had been waiting for me to stir. His beard, rough and familiar, scratched softly against my cheek as he shifted, pulling me closer until my body was flush against his. I could feel the steady thrum of his pulse in his throat, a quiet drumbeat that had governed my world since last night. "Morning, baby girl," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest and directly into mine. It was deep, gravelly, stripped of the formal armor he wore in public. This was the voice of the man