Carson
I woke slowly, the way a person does when their body doesn’t yet understand the circumstances have changed.
For a brief second, the world was just warmth, unfamiliar but welcome, and the deep, quiet comfort of being cocooned in a sleeping bag that wasn’t mine alone.
And then I realized what the warmth was.
Who the warmth was…
Sienna.
Her head rested against my chest, her hair soft against my jaw, one hand curled near my collarbone as though she’d fallen asleep touching me and never moved again. Her breathing was slow and even, her body tucked against mine in the smallest, sweetest curve I’d ever felt.
And my arms—
My arms were wrapped around her as if she belonged there.
A thought that hit hard, right in the center of my ribs.
For a man who’d spent years convincing himself he didn’t need tenderness, waking up with her pressed against me like this felt like a punch and a balm rolled into one. Something unguarded loosened in my chest, something I hadn’t let myself feel in longer than I cared to admit.
I exhaled very slowly.
Last night had been—
God.
Too much.
Not enough.
Everything.
Warmth and heat and whispered confessions.
The feel of her breath against my throat.
The soft, broken way she’d said my name before sleep finally claimed her.
I’d stayed awake longer than I should have, memorizing the way she relaxed against me. It had been years,years, since anyone had trusted me with their sleep.
And I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it.
Now, morning light filtered through the thin, silver nylon, brushing her features with softness. She looked peaceful. Happy. A little rumpled. And entirely too beautiful for someone who claimed she hated mornings.
I couldn’t look away.
If I moved, I’d wake her.
If I didn’t move, I’d fall deeper.
So I stayed perfectly still, watching her breathe, letting that raw, startling tenderness settle into me like something dangerous.
Because this, whatever this was, wasn’t simple.
Not when I’d sworn off relationships.
Not when we were pretending to be married.
