VANESSA BELMONT JANG
The first light of dawn crept through the curtains, softer now than the moonlight had been hours before.
I blinked awake, my body still humming with the memory of Nathan's touch, the way his hands had mapped every inch of me as if memorizing the terrain. He was asleep beside me, his breathing deep and even, one arm slung possessively across my waist.
I didn't dare move. Not yet.
Instead, I studied him—the way his dark lashes fanned against his cheekbones, the faint stubble shadowing his jaw.
My husband. The word sent a thrill through me, so bright and sudden I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing.
Husband.
As if sensing my gaze, Nathan stirred, his fingers flexing against my hip before his eyes fluttered open. Dark, drowsy, and instantly warm when they found mine.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
"Morning," I whispered back.
His thumb brushed over the curve of my waist, slow and deliberate. "Have you been staring?"
