ELLA
A gentle stroke of my hair woke me.
My eyes fluttered half-open, and there he was Adrian Moretti. The gorgeous criminal lay on his side, propped on one elbow, watching me with that unnerving calm, his fingers softly threading through my hair.
My cheeks flamed a hot pink.
Had I been sleeping with my mouth open?
“Good morning, my little spitfire,” he said, his voice smooth and lazy, paired with that rare, perfect smile of his.
“You should smile more often,” I blurted, unable to stop myself.
He chuckled as he stood. “For you, I will.”
That simple response knocked the air out of my lungs.
I stayed quiet, stunned, watching him disappear into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a thick, warm towel.
“Ella,” he said gently, “you’ve been through a lot. It’s time you let y
