Lily Thompson
I woke up to the weight of morning light spilling across the room in long, golden shafts. My eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the soft glow stretching over the hotel room. At first, I didn’t remember where I was. And then I turned my head and saw him.
Ryan.
Sleeping innocently. Hair tousled in that infuriatingly perfect way. Chest rising and falling with the kind of ease that made me want to crawl onto him and mess it all up.
God.
I swallowed, hard.
His arm was flung over his head, bicep taut, mouth slightly parted like he was in the middle of a dream. I could see the curve of his abs just under the hem of the sheet—one of his legs poking out. And below that…
Jesus Christ.
Was he hard?
I blinked again, sat up very slowly, trying not to disturb the bed. My eyes
