Chapter Eighteen
SwingletreeHana disentangled her legs from Logan’s and he gave a contented sigh from his sleep. The candles he’d lit while she shed her clothes spluttered and spat on the dressing table. She slipped his discarded shirt over her n***d arms, fitting her head through the gap and shivering as it slithered over her breasts and stomach. Then she looked back at her husband with a smile of satisfaction.
The thin sheet covered his midsection, unable to mask the defined muscles of his stomach and the knotty hip bone which protruded through the fabric. His salt and pepper fringe covered his eyes, and he slept with one arm flung above his head as though making a statement of careless abandon. The fingers of his other hand twitched against the pillow where Hana’s head rested until mi
