The morning sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our suite, casting long, golden rectangles across the polished hardwood floors. The air smells of fresh timber, crushed pine, and the faint, sweet scent of blooming jasmine from the courtyard below. It is a beautiful, peaceful morning.
And I am entirely, utterly exhausted.
I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands resting on my knees. My left arm is in its carbon-fiber brace, the nerve damage flaring with a dull, rhythmic ache. My ribs are heavily taped, protesting every shallow breath. But the physical pain is entirely eclipsed by the cold, hard knot of terror in my stomach.
Kade steps out of the en-suite bathroom. He is stripped to the waist, his chest heavily scarred, his left sleeve pinned neatly to his chest. He moves wit
