The make out intimacy of the bath to the heavy, dreamless anchor of sleep was instantaneous for Alina. It was as if the water hadn't just washed away the hospital scent, but the very marrow of her exhaustion.
Her body, which had been a taut wire of stress for six months, finally went slack, releasing a burden she hadn't realized she was carrying.
Damian, however, was far from sleep. He remained a silent sentinel, propped up against the headboard of the bed in the dim afternoon light. He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her shoulders, her dark hair scattered across his chest like silk threads.
The events of four hours ago remained etched in his mind—the way she had looked, the way she had surrendered, and the way she had finally claimed her place beside him. He wasn't going to forget the weight of her in that tub anytime soon; it was a memory he intended to revisit frequently.
