I woke up slowly, pulled from a dreamless sleep by the ache in my body. It wasn’t a bad ache. It was the deep, satisfied soreness of muscles that had been used, stretched, and held. My neck was stiff, pillowed awkwardly on a bicep that felt as hard as granite.
I blinked, trying to make sense of the ceiling. It was timber and stone, not the cracked plaster of the servants' quarters.
Memory flooded back in a rush. The dinner. The wine. The touch under the table. The way he had carried me in here and stripped the gray wool from my skin.
I shifted slightly, and the reality of my situation hit me. I was still in Guilermo’s bed. Still naked beneath the heavy bear furs. Still tangled in his limbs like a ship caught in a reef.
He was awake.
He was lying on his side, his head propped up on one
