The morning sun was bold, streaming through the tall, east-facing windows of Derek's bedchamber. It wasn't the weak, grey light of the previous days. It was a bright, golden beam that cut through the gloom of the night, painting stripes of warmth across the plush carpet and illuminating the scattered clothes on the floor—a silent testimony to the passion of the night before.
Derek felt the warmth on his eyelids first. He groaned softly, a low sound in his throat, and turned his head to the other side, burying his face in the soft, down pillow to escape the bright rays. But the world outside was persistent. The birds in the garden were singing, a cheerful, relentless chirping that signaled the start of a new day.
He blinked his eyes open, fighting the heaviness of sleep.
The first thing he saw was Marissa.
