6
Randall awoke, blinking for a second as he took in the unfamiliar room. Warmly paneled walls, plain dark red curtains at the window…a red, white, and green quilt pushed down nearly all the way to the footboard.
Joanna Wilcox sleeping next to him, hair coming out of its French braid and lying over her shoulders like the finest black silk floss.
As soon as he moved, she stirred, blinking up at him with wide, dark eyes. For just a second, she stared, uncomprehending, and then realization seemed to sweep through her, since a flush touched the warm-toned skin on her cheekbones.
“Good morning,” he said.
And it was a good morning. He could beat himself up all he wanted about the foolishness of sleeping with Joanna Wilcox, but something deeper, some instinct even stronger than his conscienc
