Morning light filtered through Duke’s bedroom curtains, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets. Valentina woke slowly, awareness returning in layers—the unfamiliar bed, the pleasant ache in her body, the empty space beside her.
She reached out, finding the sheets still warm. Duke hadn’t been gone long.
Last night rushed back in vivid detail—their bodies moving together, the intensity in Duke’s eyes, the way he’d held her afterward as if she might disappear. The vulnerability of it all struck her now in the cold light of day, bringing with it a flutter of panic.
What had she done? Jumped straight from one relationship into another, without taking time to find herself, to figure out who she was without a man to define her?
The bedroom door opened, and Duke appeared, holding two mugs
