The Fine Line - Rafe Cameron

Chapter Twelve

The first thing she became aware of was the warmth. It was soft, like the kind of warmth that wraps around you on a chilly day when the sun just starts to break through the clouds. She inhaled deeply, and the scent of something familiar—cologne mixed with the faintest trace of dryer sheets—filled her senses. Slowly, she opened her eyes, but the room was still hazy with the dim glow of early morning light.

She felt a sudden rush of nerves when she realized where she was.

Rafe's arm was draped over her, his chest pressed against her back. She could feel the rise and fall of his breath against her skin. His steady heartbeat beneath her ear made her feel strangely grounded, like she had finally come home.

She took a breath, trying not to move too much, afraid of disturbing the perfect quiet of the moment. The events of the night before—her birthday, the way things had changed—felt like a dream now. But this? This was real. His arm, warm and solid, around her waist. The way he held her—protective, yet gentle. It was real. And it felt good.

She let herself savor it for a moment, the stillness of the morning, before she felt his fingers stir against her side. Then, a soft, sleepy exhale. She held her breath.

His voice was low, still edged with sleep. "Morning, beautiful."

Those were words she could hear every morning for the rest of her life.

"Morning," she mumbled, shifting slightly against the pillow.

Rafe stirred, a low groan escaping his lips as his eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he just blinked at her, his expression still hazy with sleep, like he couldn't quite remember how they got here. Then, he smiled that slow, lazy smile of his.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked, his voice rough but warm, like he was still caught between dreams and reality. His hand found its way underneath her t-shirt, to her waist, pulling her just a little closer, like he couldn't quite get enough of the warmth of her body against his.

She stretched, the corners of her mouth turning up. "Like a rock. Best sleep I've had in forever."

He let out a lazy chuckle, his hand brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Yeah, I can't say the same. You were snoring like a freight train last night."

Her eyes widened. "I do not snore."

He grinned, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Oh, you definitely do." He raised an eyebrow playfully. "It's a miracle I got any sleep at all."

She narrowed her eyes, grabbing the pillow next to her and throwing it at his face. "You're such a liar."

He laughed, ducking just in time, but she still managed to land a light hit on his shoulder. "Hey! No need to get violent," he said, lifting his hands to shield his face.

In one smooth move, he snatched the pillow out of her hands and tossed it onto the floor, pulling her back against his chest with a smug grin. "Guess I'm stuck with you and your snoring."

She huffed but let herself melt into him, the warmth of his body making her feel safe and content. "I don't snore," she muttered, her face pressed against his bare chest.

"Uh-huh, sure," he mocked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Remind me to buy ear plugs next time."

She rolled her eyes but smiled, her heart swelling at how natural it all felt. "You're lucky I'm still half-asleep otherwise you'd be dead," she grumbled, reaching up to lightly punch his arm.

"Lucky, huh?" he muttered. 

She looked at him through her lashes, a sly grin creeping onto her face. "Yeah, very lucky."