ZEE.
The first thing I felt was warmth.
Not sunlight. Not the warmth of the air.
But something deeper. A soft kind of safety that wrapped around me like a memory.
My eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the filtered light that spilled through long curtains. I was in a bed. A large one.
I sat up quickly, panic flickering through me.
Where the hell—?
Then I noticed it.
I was wearing his shirt.
It was black, soft, a little too big—and the scent of him was embedded in every fiber. I brought the collar closer to my face and inhaled.
Still warm. Still Denver.
My heart fluttered stupidly.
What happened last night?
I searched my memory, a few moments coming back in hazy waves. Music. Wine. His hands on my waist. That possessive, hungry kiss. The way he bent me over that desk—his *“r
