Julian Fairchild lifted the left side of the blanket and lay down.
The distance between them was large enough to fit two more people.
Maeve Lane wasn't sleepy at first, but as her eyes stayed open, a wave of drowsiness washed over her, and her consciousness gradually blurred.
Julian Fairchild heard her steady and even breathing, and turned slightly, his handsome but wicked eyes carried a heavy emotion in the deep night.
Seeing Maeve Lane was already asleep, he completely turned his body over.
The woman's graceful sleeping face was fully presented before him. Compared to the indifference of the daytime, Maeve Lane now resembled a curled-up white cat, her eyelashes curled and long, her skin fair and dewy, perhaps because she had just bathed; her pert nose was somewhat red, evoking a sense of vulnerability.
