Maxwell's POV
I woke up in the middle of the night to the realization that something was very, very wrong.
Or very right, depending on how you looked at it.
And I absolutely could not look at it that way.
The room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the storm clouds through the window.
But that wasn't what woke me.
It was the warmth. The weight. The softness pressed against me.
Olivia.
Sometime during the night, she'd moved. Or I'd moved. Or we'd both moved toward each other in sleep, drawn together like magnets.
She was no longer on her side of the bed, maintaining careful distance.
She was draped over me like a blanket.
Her head was tucked under my chin, her breath warm against my neck. Her hand was spread across my chest, right over my heart - which was currently trying to beat its way out of my ribcage.
And her leg.
God, her leg.
