The first thing Zane registered was the sound of her breathing.
Soft. Slow. Warm against his chest.
It speared straight through him.
For a second he lay still, eyes shut, afraid to look. Every nerve in his body was still ringing from last night, from the reckless, impossible way their fight had bled into something neither of them could stop.
Her hand was on his ribcage. Barely. Just the faint weight of her fingertips resting there like she hadn't meant to fall asleep touching him.
He opened his eyes.
Dawn hadn't fully arrived yet—just that faint silver glow pressing at the edges of her curtains. It cast her in a soft half-light. Her hair spilled over the pillow in messy waves. Her lashes brushed her cheeks. Her lips were parted slightly, still swollen from how desperately, hungrily they had kissed him.
His stomach dropped.
Not with desire.
With guilt.
