Page 150 of Temporary Vows

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I stir slowly, surfacing from the haze of a dream where I’m still wrapped in my husband’s arms.

Warmth fills me first as I roll onto my side.

My cheek brushes a soft pillow, and then the scent of sandalwood and musk drifts into my lungs.

Him.

It’s everywhere. In the sheets. In the air. It clings to me like it’s soaked into my skin.

I breathe in deeper, like I can’t get enough.

My body aches in a way that makes my breath catch, my fingers curling into the sheets as flashes of last night flicker through my mind.

Heat creeps up my neck, setting my nerves alight.

I squeeze my eyes shut and stay still.

Because if I don’t move—if I don’t open them—I can pretend I’m still there. Still wrapped in him. Still hearing him tell me there’s only me. Him and me.

If I wake fully, it will fade.

And I’ll be back in reality. Back in this twisted arrangement we’ve built.

And he’ll be gone.

Dorian is always gone.

He never stays after sex. I don’t even know what he looks like first thing in the morning. Or in sunlight.

The earliest I’ve ever seen him was that morning after the Marcus incident—and even then, we were in the kitchen. No light. No softness.

So I stay like this for a moment longer.

In this quiet space, I allow myself to admit the one thing I never want to.

I’m in love with him.

I am utterly and stupidly in love with my husband. And that means I broke the only rule I set for myself when I signed his contract.

And that means I broke the only rule I set when I signed his contract.

Love is why I felt like I was losing my mind.

Love is why I want him to be mine.

Love is why I care.

And why I’ll get hurt.

A soft shuffling sound pulls at my awareness.

At first, I think I imagined it. Until it sounds again.

It’s then I realize I’m not alone.

I open my eyes, bracing myself. Everything in me goes still when my eyes meet his, in the bright sunlight.