The morning light struck in through the wide picture windows of the chalet bedroom. We were still firmly in bed, sticky with sweat and Sy’s slow whiskey kisses from the night before. I couldn’t stop touching him, even lazily half asleep. I kissed his jaw, the subtle rise of the dark laurel tattoo, his shoulder. I felt him nuzzle his nose into my hair.

“We have to get up,” he whispered, and I shivered with pleasure as I felt his hot breath against my ear transform into a ...