The Wrong Bride
But he stopped her — a light tug on her waist pulling her back to him.
“Do you feel better?” he asked, his voice quieter this time.
Her lashes fluttered. She was too stunned to speak for a moment, too wrapped in the warmth of him. “Yes,” she whispered eventually.
Then, lowering her eyes, she murmured, “Sorry for… disturbing you last night. With the nightmare.”
Ryan shook his head faintly, his thumb brushing the back of her hand. “It’s fine,” he said. “Honestly, I slept better here than on that damn couch.”
Bab Populer