Olivia Martins

The door creaked open, stirring me from the edge of a restless sleep. I blinked against the soft morning light spilling through the curtains.

“Ryker?” I asked, my voice scratchy and low.

“It’s me,” he said gently. “Didn’t mean to wake you. Just needed a change of clothes.”

I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes as he disappeared into the closet. The bed still smelled faintly of him, clean and masculine, but it wasn’t Caspian, and every part of me ached with the ...