Chapter 3
Sebastian couldn’t sleep. That in and of itself wasn’t anything new. He and insomnia were close friends, and he’d lain awake so often, he knew every knot and swirl in the plank ceiling above his bed. But this time, it wasn’t for the usual reasons. He wasn’t thinking of war or death or those he’d lost on the field of battle and after. No, he was thinking of Laurel Maxwell. The absolutely off-limits woman he’d have on his arm in—he glanced at the clock—something like fourteen hours.
He hadn’t been able to resist following her outside. Hadn’t been able to stop himself from doing what he could to erase the panic he’d seen so clearly in her eyes. That vulnerability tugged at him in a way flirtation never could. It wasn’t in him to ignore someone in need. So he’d intervened, touching
