“Of course.”
He guided her to the bathroom and handed her the clip, turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature and asked, “Would it be easier for me to step out so you can see what you’re doing?”
Her lips curled into a warm smile, “I think most women can put our hair up without looking while also doing a million other things at the same time. We’re quite talented at multitasking.” Her playful tone made it clear it was a ridiculous question.
He huffed out a laugh as she wound her hair into a bun at the top of her head, using the clip to secure it before Archer helped her step under the warm spray, careful to keep her face and hair out of the spray. With her vision still obscured by the sleep mask, Morgan relied entirely on his guidance, his touch.
Archer washed her with careful attention, his hands soapy and sure as they moved over her body. In the shadowed world behind her blindfold, his touch became an unspoken confession—baring him completely, while he cherished her with every movement.
“Your turn,” she insisted when he finished, taking the soap from him.
He placed her hands on his chest, letting her explore his body by touch alone. Morgan blindly mapped the contours of his muscles, the ridges of old scars, the tattoos she remembered from their movie night. She loved learning him this way—through touch, through texture, through the small sounds he made when her fingers found sensitive spots.
When they finally emerged from the shower, Archer wrapped her in a towel, drying her with the same care he’d shown throughout the evening. He guided her back to the bedroom, helping her into a clean nightshirt with her direction on where to find it, before settling her under the covers.
“Will you stay?” she asked, suddenly afraid he’d leave now that their passion had been spent.
A pause, then: “Until you fall asleep.”
Not a complete yes, but not a refusal either. Morgan would take it.
The mattress dipped as he joined her, gathering her against his chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady beneath her ear, his arms secure around her.
“Can I take this off now?” she asked, gesturing to the sleep mask.
“Not yet,” he said, a touch of regret in his voice. “Soon.”
Morgan nodded, understanding. Whatever his reasons for maintaining his anonymity, she trusted that they were important to him. And trust, she was learning, sometimes meant accepting boundaries you didn’t fully understand.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” she requested, settling more comfortably against him.
“Something like what?”
“Anything. Something real.”
He was quiet for so long she thought he might not answer. Then: “I have a place in Montana. A cabin by a lake. No one knows about it except the guys.”
“A secret hideaway,” she murmured, smiling. “That suits you.”
“I go there when the world gets too loud,” he continued, his voice soft in the darkness. “Sometimes I stay for days, just soaking up the sun and reading. No phone, no internet.”
Morgan tried to picture it—this powerful, mysterious man alone in a rustic cabin, finding peace in simplicity. “I’d like to see it someday,” she said without thinking.
His arms tightened around her. “I’d like that too,” he replied, surprising her.
They talked quietly as the night deepened around them—inconsequential things, comfortable things. Morgan felt herself drifting, lulled by his warmth and the rhythmic stroke of his hand through her hair and along her body.
“Sleep,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ve got you.”
She surrendered to exhaustion, safe in his arms.
Morgan woke slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves. The sleep mask was gone from her eyes, early morning light filtering through her curtains. She reached across the bed, finding it empty but still the slightest bit warm.
He’d stayed longer than just until she fell asleep, then.
Sitting up, she spotted a folded note on the pillow beside her. In elegant handwriting, it read:You’re beautiful when you sleep. Thank you for trusting me. —A
The note banished any lingering cobwebs in her brain and brought a delighted smile to her lips. As she rose to start her day, she discovered more notes—one on her bathroom mirror:Your smile is the first thing I think about when I wake up.
