Sheila’s POV
I wake to the soft press of him against me, the faint hum of the city outside barely reaching the room. Brendan’s arm is draped over my waist, his warmth radiating through me, steady and grounding in a way I didn’t think was possible. I can feel his breath on my neck, soft and steady, and for a second, I stay frozen, letting myself just exist in the quiet, tangled in him.
I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, but the movement brushes his arm. He groans softly, a low, lazy sound, half asleep, half amused. “You’re staring,” he murmurs, his lips barely brushing the side of my hair.
I bite my lip, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I’m not,” I whisper, but I know the truth. I have been. Every inch of him, even now in sleep’s haze, draws me in like gravity I can’t resist.
“Liar,”
