The anger and confusion from our fight left me exhausted. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep on the sofa in my old apartment, only to be woken much later by the feeling of being lifted. Strong arms slid under my back and knees, and I was cradled against a hard, warm chest. I knew it was Damien, but I was too tired to protest. I let him carry me out to the car and back to the manor, a silent, temporary truce hanging in the air between us.
The next morning, I woke up warm and tangled in soft, high-thread-count sheets. For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then, I realized the source of the heat. I wasn't alone in the bed.
