Gideon Blackwell. Reclined against the pillows, bare chest kissed by morning light, sculpted lines made golden by the sun spilling through the window. His gray eyes were darker now, heavy with sleep, but trained only on her.
“Good morning.”
His voice was gentler than she’d ever heard it. It was as though he didn’t want to break the fragile quiet that stretched between them.
She blinked once, unsure how to navigate the truth between them. This wasn’t banter. This wasn’t flirtation.
This was quieter.
Braver.
“Morning,” she said, the word a soft echo.
His lips curved, slow and lazy, into the kind of smile that didn’t belong to Gideon Blackwell, enigmatic businessman. It belonged to the man beneath the polish. The one who had held her like she wasn’t delicate, but divine.
His thumb skimmed across her waist, casual, tender—sending a ripple of heat through her that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with care.
“You stayed.”
Not a question. Not a dig. Just… wonder.
She swallowed hard. The weight of it caught in her throat. The way he said it, like it mattered. Likeshemattered.
“I did.”
His gaze never left hers. “How do you feel?”
She hesitated, worrying her lip, unsure how much to reveal.
Like I should run.
Like I’m not built for this.
But also—like a part of me exhaled last night for the first time in years.
She tried for a smirk, but it fell a little short. “Okay,” she said.
A pause, and then—quiet, raw, real: “Better than okay.”
Relief softened his features, subtle but certain.
His hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and God, she leaned into it without thinking.
She should pull back. She should find her shoes, her walls, her exit.
But instead, she whispered?—
“You meant what you said last night.”
Not a question.
A confession.
“I did.” His voice was steady, grounded. “You don’t have to rush, Arden. But you don’t have to run, either.”
The words pressed into her like a hand on her chest—not forceful, just there. A quiet truth. One she wasn’t ready to hold but couldn’t ignore.
Her gaze dropped to the blanket where her fingers drew invisible patterns across the fabric.
