Samantha’s POV
I woke up slowly — the kind of slow where the world feels soft around the edges, where the air is warm, where nothing hurts for a moment.
The first thing I felt was heat.
Not from the blanket.
Not from the sunlight spilling across the room.
From him.
Voight.
His arm was draped over my waist, heavy and warm.
His chest rose and fell against my back, steady and grounding.
His breath brushed the back of my neck, slow and even.
We were tangled together — blankets twisted around our legs, my hand resting over his, his fingers curled lightly against my hip like he’d fallen asleep protecting me.
I didn’t remember falling asleep like this.
But I didn’t want to move.
Not yet.
The room was quiet, the afternoon sun slipping through the blinds in soft gold stripes. Dust floated lazily in the air. Everything felt still.
Safe.
I shifted slightly, and his grip tightened instinctively.
“You awake?” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
He didn’t move his arm.
Didn’t pull away.
Didn’t pretend this wasn’t happening.
Instead, he exhaled softly, his forehead brushing the back of my shoulder.
“You scared me yesterday,” he said quietly.
“You scared me too.”
He huffed a tired laugh. “We keep doing that.”
“Apparently.”
He finally loosened his hold just enough for me to roll onto my back. He propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at me.
His hair was a mess.
His shirt was wrinkled.
His eyes were softer than I’d ever seen them.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
I nodded. “Are you?”
He hesitated — just for a second — then nodded.
“Better now,” he said.
The way he said it made my chest tighten.
---
Voight’s POV
She looked different in the afternoon light.
Softer.
Calmer.
Alive.
And too close.
Her hair was spread across the pillow, her eyes half‑open, her voice still thick with sleep. The blanket was tangled around both of us, our legs brushing under the sheets.
I should’ve moved.
I didn’t.
“You slept,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“On my couch.”
“Yeah.”
“And then in my bed.”
I cleared my throat. “You asked me to stay.”
“I didn’t ask you to sleep next to me.”
“You fell asleep on me.”
She smiled — small, teasing, warm. “You didn’t have to stay.”
“I know.”
“But you did.”
“Yeah.”
She reached up and brushed a thumb near the bruise on my cheek.
“You’re hurt,” she whispered.
“So are you.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you.”
I swallowed. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“But you do anyway.”
“Yeah.”
The room felt too quiet.
Too warm.
Too full of things neither of us was saying.
Her hand lingered on my cheek a moment too long.
I didn’t pull away.
Neither did she.
---
Samantha’s POV
He was staring again.
Not the protective stare.
Not the worried stare.
Something else.
Something warmer.
Something that made my breath catch.
“You’re doing it again,” I whispered.
“Doing what?”
“Staring.”
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, he leaned in just a little — close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, close enough that the air between us felt electric.
“Samantha…” he said softly.
My heart thudded once, hard.
“Yeah?” I whispered.
He didn’t move closer.
Didn’t pull away.
Just stayed there, hovering in that space where everything felt possible.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
“I know.”
“And I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
“I know.”
“And I…”
He stopped himself.
Looked away for a second.
Then back at me.
“I care,” he said quietly. “More than I should.”
My breath caught.
“Good,” I whispered.
His eyes softened.
And he rested his forehead gently against mine.
Not a kiss.
Not yet.
But close enough that my pulse jumped.
Close enough that the moment felt like a promise.
YOU ARE READING
The New Detective
Mystery / ThrillerA new detective joins intelligence and she isn't what anyone expected will she collide with Voight or will something more happen
