Windsor's POV
The feeling hit me like a wave of nausea mixed with recognition. Everything felt both foreign and achingly familiar at once. My feet seemed glued to the ground as his old lies rang in my ears, my body refusing to obey my mind's command to run.
"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Weston had whispered that night, his fingers gentle as they brushed a wayward curl from my face. I had laughed then, not from joy but from sheer disbelief. Laughter was safer than hope.
He noticed my skepticism immediately. His arms circled my waist, drawing me against his solid chest until his muscles became my cage.
"I mean it," he breathed against the curve of my neck, his lips barely grazing my skin. I felt his gaze dip to my scent gland, lingering on the mark. When he pressed his mouth there, electricity shot down my spine. Without thinking, I melted into his embrace, craving his heat.
