The first thing Emma noticed was warmth.
Not the cold, empty expanse of her marital bed, but a solid heat pressed against her back, an arm draped possessively over her waist. The scent of cedar and something uniquely Damien enveloped her, and for the first time in years, she had slept without nightmares.
Her lashes fluttered open, the morning light filtering through sheer curtains. She was still wrapped in his T-shirt, the fabric soft against her skin, the collar loose enough to slip off one shoulder. And behind her— him.
Damien’s breath was steady against the nape of her neck, his chest rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm. His arm tightened slightly around her as if even in sleep, he refused to let her go.
Emma’s heart stuttered.
I slept in his arms. No nightmares, no
