That morning, Beverley woke up with an aching body. A muscular hand curled around her waist. She stroked Brent’s chest, which was her pillow, and then sighed.

Today, the man was going to New York as usual. It would take a few days. So they had spent a passionate night before parting.

“I don’t want to go,” Brent whispered, his eyes closed. His voice was still hoarse from just waking up. The caress on his chest had woken him up.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I ...