Aurora Sage didn't sleep that night.
She lay in the king-sized bed with Logan Mason's arm heavy across her waist, his breath warm against her neck, the scent of his skin—cologne, whiskey, something purely male—still clinging to her senses. On the surface, he looked peaceful, but even in sleep, his hold on her was possessive, as though he could anchor her to him by sheer force of will.
To anyone else, it might have seemed romantic. To Aurora, it was a warning.
Because the tighter he held her, the more she felt the world outside closing in.
The distorted voice from the phone call still echoed in her mind. Do you really believe he can protect you, assassin? Or will he die before you tell him the truth about what you've done?
Her enemies weren't faceless anymore. They were close, and worse—they knew who she was.
