Azalea Faye Larau - The sweetheart socialite with a fire underneath and an up and coming ballet dancer in London striving to stay afloat in an ocean of sharks, all the while dealing with heartbreak and loss.
Harlan Emeric Marchetti - The Italian Maf...
"Now I'm dancing on a fine line, somewhere between a minute and a lifetime."
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The soft glow of morning filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden light across the room.
I blinked slowly, my body feeling both heavy and light at the same time—aching in places I didn't mind and warm in a way that had nothing to do with the blankets draped over us.
I shifted slightly, only to realize that I couldn't move much.
Harlan's arm was slung securely around my waist, holding me in place against his chest. One of his legs was tangled with mine, his grip firm even in sleep, as if his body refused to let me go, even unconsciously.
I sighed quietly, my lips twitching at the thought.
Slowly, carefully, I turned my head, my gaze settling on his face and saw that he was still asleep.
It was rare to see him like this—at ease, unguarded, the weight of the world no longer pressed upon his shoulders.
His breathing was steady and deep, his bare chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. The hard lines of his face were softened, his usual sharp intensity dulled by the haze of sleep.
God, he was beautiful.
I swallowed, my fingers twitching with the sudden urge to touch him.
Giving in, I reached out, hesitantly tracing the faint crease between his brows, smoothing my fingers over the furrow as if I could erase the tension that always seemed to linger there when he was awake.
My touch was featherlight as I trailed down, outlining the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. Even in sleep, there was something undeniably powerful about him. The way his presence filled a space, the way his grip on me never loosened, even as he dreamed.
My fingertips brushed over his lips, and I felt my breath catch.
I had kissed those lips more times than I could count, but there was something about seeing them like this—relaxed, slightly parted, completely unaware of my touch—that made my heart clench in a way I wasn't prepared for.
Harlan shifted slightly, his grip on me tightening just the slightest bit, and I froze, waiting to see if he would wake but he didn't.
Instead, he let out a low sigh, the sound vibrating against my skin as he unconsciously nuzzled his face closer to my neck.
A slow warmth unfurled in my chest, spreading through me as I stared at him, my fingers still lightly resting against his jaw.
This man—this cold, powerful, ruthless man—held me like I was something precious. Even now, in sleep, he refused to let me go and God help me, I didn't want him to.
