I woke up in Damien Vale’s bed alone.
Which somehow felt more dangerous than waking up beside him.
Morning light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, turning Ashbourne gold beneath the clouds. Elysian Heights glittered in polished silence while somewhere far below, traffic hummed through streets Damien probably owned half of.
The sheets smelled like him.
Smoke.
Cedar.
Whiskey.
My brain immediately chose violence against my self-control.
I buried my face back into the pillow with a groan.
This was bad.
Catastrophically bad.
Because sometime between gunfire, threats, and kissing the city’s most dangerous billionaire, I had started feeling safe here.
A soft knock sounded at the bedroom door.
Then Roman’s voice:
“Please tell me you’re awake because I ref
