KAIREN
I woke up warm.
Not the kind of warmth from too many blankets or a sunbeam cutting across the bed. This was different. This was a solid, living heat pressed along my entire side. My cheek was pillowed on something firm but yielding, something that rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.
Something that breathed.
I blinked awake, my brain swimming through the thick syrup of a deep, dreamless sleep. My mouth tasted like stale vodka and regret. My head throbbed in a dull, predictable rhythm.
And then I registered it.
My bedroom. The familiar dark grey silk of my own sheets. The massive abstract painting on the far wall. The floor-to-ceiling windows showing the first bruised purple hints of dawn.
And the arm wrapped around my waist, holding me in place.
The scent, not just my expensive linen spray,but.... Viktor.
The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water directly to the sternum.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no.
