I WAKE UP SLOWLY.
Not the sharp jolt of alarm I've been experiencing every morning since I arrived here, where consciousness hits like cold water and I spend the first thirty seconds trying to remember where I am and why. This is different. This is warmth seeping through my bones, a cocoon of silk sheets and something solid behind me, and a hand splayed across my stomach like it belongs there.
Devyn.
His chest is pressed against my back. His breath stirs my hair. His arm is wrapped around me, possessive even in sleep, and I can feel his heartbeat through my skin—steady, slow, the rhythm of a man who isn't worried about anything.
I lie very still, cataloging the sensations like a photographer sorting through shots. The heat of him along my spine. The weight of his arm. The way my body fits against his like we were designed to slot together, which is ridiculous because we weren't, we're strangers who got married yesterday, strangers who—
His arm tightens.
I stop breathing.
He pulls me closer, a sleepy, instinctive motion, and his mouth brushes the back of my neck. Not quite a kiss. Just contact. Just his lips against my skin, warm and soft, and every nerve ending I have sits up and pays attention.
"Mmm." The sound vibrates against my neck. "You're awake."
"How can you tell?"
"You stopped breathing."
I start breathing again, pointedly, and he makes a sound that might be a laugh. It rumbles through his chest and into my back, and I feel it everywhere.
"I wasn't—I was just—"
He turns me in his arms.
One motion. Efficient. Suddenly I'm facing him, and the morning light is catching the gold in his eyes, and his hair is mussed from sleep in a way that makes him look almost human. Almost approachable.
Almost.
"Good morning," he says.
"Good morning."
We stare at each other.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
Seventh time. I'm still counting.
And then he kisses me.
Soft. Slow. Nothing like the claiming kisses from last night. This is gentle in a way I didn't know he could be, his hand coming up to cup my face, his thumb tracing along my cheekbone like I'm something precious.
When he pulls back, I've forgotten my own name.
"That's a nice way to wake up—"
It’s only when I see the corner of his mouth twitch did I realize what I’ve just blurted out.
Argh.
"I mean—" I start, and then stop, because his eyes are very gold this close, and his hand is still on my face, and I'm suddenly aware that I'm not wearing anything under this sheet. "It's—yes. It's nice. You're—"
Oh my gosh, Bailey. Do not tell him he's good at kissing.
"—very warm," I finish. "Temperature-wise. You're like a furnace. It's very—"
