Amelia's eyes stirred open to the soft gray light seeping past the heavy curtains. For a moment she didn't move, only watched the rise and fall of Stan's chest beside her. He was still asleep, one arm loosely curved near her waist, the cotton of the sleep shirt he'd put on last night creased against his skin. She bit her lower lip, the smallest, almost guilty motion, and let her gaze travel the line of his throat, the faint bruise still shadowing his collarbone.
His eyes opened.
He caught her mid-look. A slow, sleepy awareness settled into his expression, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to be dangerous, warmth already gathering in the gray of his eyes.
"Morning," he said, voice rough with sleep. "You been staring long?"
Heat climbed her throat. "I was… checking you were still breathing."
"Mm." He turned onto his side, facing her fully, the sheet sliding lower on his hip. "And the verdict?"
"Adequate," she managed, though the word came out thinner than she intended.
