Charlie woke with a low groan and a pounding behind her eyes.
Mistake number one: opening one eye.
Mistake number two: rolling onto her back.
The ceiling felt too bright, her mouth dry, her hair absolutely feral. She scrubbed a hand over her face, trying to piece together the night—shower, bed, warmth, Rowan—when she heard the sound of running water stop.
Her eye snapped open fully.
The bathroom door opened, steam spilling into the room… and Rowan stepped out, towelling his hair, a single towel slung low around his hips.
Charlie froze.
He looked unfairly good for a man who had clearly slept very little. Skin still damp, tattoos darkened by water, shoulders relaxed in a way that made him look dangerously domestic. Morning light traced every line of muscle like it was doing her person
