It was his.
His scent still clung to it—warm, masculine, a mix of salt air, faint cologne, and the heady, intoxicating smell of sex that still lingered in the air around her.
Savannah turned onto her side, breathing it in, letting the memories crash into her all at once.
The way he looked at her. The way he touched her. The way he wrecked her like he had no intention of leaving her whole.
A slow pulse ignited between her thighs.
She swallowed, her fingers grazing over the empty space beside her.
The sheets were still warm, rumpled, a mess of tangled limbs and restless, desperate hands.
But the bed was empty.
Savannah’s eyes fluttered open, sunlight spilling through the wide windows, streaking golden light across the room.
The view outside was breathtaking—the sound stretched out in front of her, seagrass waving lazily in the breeze. But none of it mattered.
Because Chase wasn’t there.
Her stomach tightened.
Did he regret it?
The thought was suffocating, unwelcome.
She pushed herself up onto her elbows, taking in the wreckage of their night together.
Her clothes were still scattered across the floor—her shorts were nowhere to be found, his shirt tossed haphazardly near the dresser, like he had been too impatient to wait even a second longer.
Her lips curled slightly.
Last night had been… everything.
The kind of night that burned itself into your skin.
And now?
Now she had to face the morning after.
She shoved back the covers, her body still buzzing with the remnants of his touch, of his mouth, of the way he had whispered filthy things against her skin while burying himself inside her.
Savannah bit her lip and grabbed the first thing she could find—his Henley from yesterday—slipping it over her bare skin. The fabric swallowed her whole, the sleeves falling below her elbow, but it smelled like him.
She padded toward the door, heart hammering, listening for any sign of him.
And then—
The faint sound of movement downstairs.
She exhaled.
He’s still here.
Relief curled through her, followed immediately by something far more dangerous—anticipation.
Savannah descended the stairs slowly, the scent of coffee and something buttery and rich wafting through the air.
