Elena wakes to the soft clicking of keys. She blinks, adjusting to the morning light, and finds Ryker sitting beside her on the bed, laptop balanced on his thighs, eyes narrowed in concentration.
“Ryker,” she murmurs, “if you have work to do, you could’ve gone to your office.”
He closes the laptop instantly. “I was not leaving you.”
He shifts closer. “How do you feel?”
“Sore,” she admits, “but more like a bruise now.”
“Good.”
Before she can say anything else, he’s suddenly above her—bracing himself carefully so he doesn’t touch her injury. His mouth finds hers, slow but hungry, parting her lips with his tongue. His hand glides up her side, deliberate, gentle, avoiding the healing area with absolute precision.
Heat sparks through her—
But just as quickly as he was there, he pulls ba
