Then deeper.
Her hand twisted in the front of his shirt. His fingers slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head, drawing her closer.
She made a small sound against his mouth.
The kiss slowed. Unhurried. Like time had finally given them a break.
Wyatt pulled back. Just enough to breathe.
His forehead rested against hers. His hand was still in her hair, her fingers still gripping his shirt.
“Jen—”
“I know.” Soft fingers traced his jaw. “Not tonight. But I know.”
Neither of them moved for a long moment.
She smiled against his mouth and settled back against the couch, her head finding his shoulder again. Her hand released his shirt and slid down to rest against his chest.
He should take her inside to a proper bed, but he didn’t want to break the moment.
So he held her while her breathing evened out. He looked down at her sleeping face. At the dark lashes against her cheeks. The slight part of her lips. The way her hand had curled into his shirt, even in sleep.
He shifted and got his arms under her.
She stirred. “Mmm?”
“I’ve got you.” He stood and lifted her against his chest.
She didn’t wake, just turned her face into his shoulder.
He passed the guest room without slowing and carried her straight to his bedroom. The thought of leaving her across the hall in the guest room just didn’t sit right.
The door to his room was open. He nudged it wider with his shoulder and crossed to the bed. He laid her down gently and pulled the duvet and comforter over her. Then climbed in beside her, fully dressed. She turned automatically, fitting herself against him as if she’d always known where to go.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered into the darkness.
She didn’t answer, already deeply asleep.
But her hand covered his where it rested at her waist.
Wyatt closed his eyes.
For the first time in years, the quiet didn’t feel empty.
29
Warmth first.Then weight.
Jen surfaced slowly, awareness filtering in through layers of exhaustion. Her body registered sensation before her brain caught up—the solid heat pressed against her back, the heavy band of an arm at her waist, breath steady and even against the nape of her neck.
She didn’t move. Didn’t want to—not when this felt too much like something she could keep.
His arm was loose around her—no grip, no trap. Just there. His hand lay open at her hip, fingers relaxed. She blinked. Pale morning light filtered through unfamiliar windows. Pale timber ceiling beams. White walls. White bed linen.
This wasn’t the guest room.
This is his bedroom.
