Stan woke to the warm, unfamiliar quiet of a hotel suite, tangled in heavy sheets that smelled faintly of jasmine and warm skin.
The pale, bruised-grey light of early morning filtered through the half-drawn curtains of the master bedroom. The space beside him was empty, though the pillows were deeply indented and still held the lingering, intimate warmth of the woman who had occupied them.
The dull ache in his shoulders wasn't just the sheer exhaustion of the week finally breaking; it was the heavy, languid aftermath of the night they had just shared. For the first time in nearly a week, he had slept deeply, pulled under by the sheer, undeniable gravity of her.
He drew a single, slow breath.
