He was still asleep. The harsh lines of his face had softened, the perpetual alertness that characterized his waking hours finally relaxed. Without the weight of vigilance, he looked younger somehow. Almost peaceful. A strand of dark hair had fallen across his forehead, and she reached up to brush it aside before she could think better of it.
His eyes opened.
For a heartbeat, she froze—caught in the act of touching him, suddenly uncertain of the protocols for morning-after behavior. The books she’d read had been frustratingly vague on this particular subject.
But then his expression shifted, and the worry dissolved. His gaze was soft and warm, filled with something that made her chest ache in the best possible way. The corner of his mouth curved upward.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Her voice came out scratchy with sleep. “I was just—your hair was?—”
“I know.” He caught her hand before she could pull it away, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I don’t mind.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. After everything they’d shared the night before, she shouldn’t be blushing over such a small gesture. But somehow, the tenderness of it felt almost more intimate than the passion had been.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked.
“Better than I have in years.”
“Me too.” She hesitated, suddenly uncertain. “Was it... I mean, last night... was it...”
“Perfect.” He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. “It was perfect.”
The knot of anxiety in her chest loosened. She’d worried, in the quiet hours before dawn, that perhaps he’d regretted it. That perhaps, in the light of morning, he’d realize she was inexperienced and awkward and not at all what he wanted. Butthe way he was looking at her now—like she was something precious, something rare—banished those fears entirely.
“I have so many questions,” she admitted.
His laugh was a low rumble that she felt as much as heard. “Of course you do.”
“About the physical responses, and the neurochemistry involved, and whether the intensity correlates with emotional connection or is purely physiological?—”
“Liora.”
“Yes?”
“Later.” He pulled her closer, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Right now, I just want to hold you.”
She melted into him without protest.
They stayedlike that for a long, peaceful stretch of time—neither sleeping nor fully awake, just existing together in the warm cocoon of tangled sheets and shared breath. Pip eventually roused himself from the foot of the bed and hopped up to investigate, chittering softly as he nuzzled against her shoulder.
“He’s accepted you,” she said, watching the little creature eye Baylin with something approaching approval. “He wouldn’t come this close if he hadn’t.”
“I’m honored.”
“You should be. Pip is an excellent judge of character.” She scratched behind the glider’s ears. “He bit Susan’s ankle once when she tried to cut my hair without asking.”
“Wise creature.”
“She deserved it. My hair is mine.” She ran her fingers through the long strands absently. “I decide what happens to it.”
Something flickered across his face—a shadow of the anger she’d seen before, when he’d learned about her captivity. But he smoothed it away quickly.
“Are you hungry?”
The question reminded her stomach that it existed. “Starving, actually.”
“I’ll make breakfast.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and began to disentangle himself from the sheets. “Stay here. Rest.”
