The Widow's Son: 8. The Second Storm

Nathaniel woke before dawn, still on the floor, Caroline half-draped over his chest. The window cast long shadows over her sleeping face, and her hair curled over his ribs like the last piece of his restraint unraveling.

She was still here. Still soft. Still his.

And it made something savage rise in his chest.

He kissed her shoulder. She stirred.

"Morning," she murmured.

He smiled against her skin. “We need to talk.”

Caroline blinked. “That’s never a good sentence", she said but smiled at him, thinking that he looked very hot. 

He sat up, cradling her cheek. “Last night... it wasn’t a mistake.”

“No,” she agreed. “It wasn’t.”

“But it was ammunition. If someone saw us—”

“They did.”

Nathaniel went still. “What?”

Caroline pulled the sheet around her. Her voice was quiet but certain. “I got a text. Late last night. An anonymous number.”

She reached over to the dresser and handed him her phone. His jaw tigh