“PAXTON—ARE YOU OKAY?”
Mal looked up at me from the heap of sheets she’d made on my bed. Her brown hair was a tangled mess around her face and her green eyes flashed with concern as soon as she lifted her head and saw me. She was wearing an undershirt of mine and no panties. She looked more stunning than I’d ever seen her before.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her as I committed her image to memory. This was how I wanted to remember her: her pretty face still bleary from sleep, completely unaware of what was about to come; that light dusting of freckles across her nose looking golden in the mid-morning light; her full, delicate lips chapped from where I’d roughly kissed them the night before.
“We need to talk, Mal,” I said, willing my voice not to break.
