The first consciousness was not of light, or sound, but of heat. A profound, life-giving warmth that seeped into the marrow of her bones, banishing the last ghostly echoes of yesterday's pain. Tania lay cocooned, held securely against a wall of solid muscle and sinew. An arm, heavy and possessive, was draped over her waist, its weight a comforting anchor. The rhythm was what captivated her most—the slow, powerful thud of a heart against her spine, a primal drumbeat that her own heart instinctively matched.
Devon.
She shifted, a minute movement in the nest of blankets and limbs, and turned within the circle of his embrace. The morning light, soft and hazy, gilded him. He was sleep-softened, the usual fierce authority of his features relaxed. A dark lock of hair fell across his forehead, and his lips, so often a firm, commanding line, were parted slightly. She could feel the whisper of his breath against her skin, a tantalizing caress.
