You groaned, your head pounding with the familiar ache of too much firewhisky.

The sheets beneath you were unfamiliar—crisp, dark, smelling of something woodsy and distinctly male.

And then you felt it.

An arm. Heavy. Warm. Draped across your bare waist like it belonged there.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as you looked down.

Your stomach dropped.

You were in nothing but your bra and knickers. Your robes were crumpled on the floor by the foot of the bed, your skirt tangled with a pair of black trousers.

Slowly, carefully, you turned your head.

Dark curls spilled across the pillow. A sharp jawline. Lips slightly parted in sleep.