The first official morning of sharing a bed with Julian Vance felt less like a morning of rest and more like surviving a psychological battlefield where the terms of engagement were completely stacked against me.
I lay entirely frozen on the absolute, precarious edge of the mattress, my back turned toward the imposing frame of my husband.
The heavy silk comforter was pulled tightly up to my chin, acting as a flimsy barrier against the sheer, overwhelming power of his physical presence.
Even without looking back at him, I could feel the intense, radiant heat of his bare chest pressing against my shoulder blades. His large, heavy arm remained anchored firmly around my waist, his long fingers splayed across my stomach, locking me against him so securely that escaping without waking him fel
