Sleep did not come.
Elena lay in the narrow bed in the guest wing, staring at the stone ceiling. The room was sparse, cold, and smelled of lavender. But it wasn't the cold that kept her awake. It was the memory of his touch.
Her hand drifted up to her neck, her fingers tracing the spot where his hand had been. Her skin still felt sensitized, burning with the ghost of his grip. She had never reacted to a man like that. It was primal, a chemical reaction that bypassed her brain and went straight to her instincts.
She needed to move. She needed to find the records.
Throwing off the heavy wool blanket, Elena slipped out of bed. She pulled on her boots and her coat. The hallways were silent, lit only by the dim blue glow of the moonlight through the narrow windows.
She knew Caleb’s office
