He brushed her hair until it was nearly dry. He had to…

““He brushed her hair until it was nearly dry. He had to reach forward to catch the brandy glass. Lazy delight swirled through her at the glance of his hand over hers. Each stroke of the brush leached away another layer of resistance. After all the fear and anger, she slid into a fog of languorous docility. Perhaps soon he'd take her to bed. Surely he hadn't meant it when he said she'd sleep alone. He set the brush aside and lifted her into his arms. She murmured sleepily and nestled into his chest. She was warm. He was warm. Everything was delicious warmth. She smothered a yawn and shut her eyes. Jonas... She might have spoken his name aloud. She nuzzled his chest, drawing in more rain-fresh scent. She thought he growled softly in his throat. She wasn't sure. She was so tired, she wasn't sure about much. He set her down on the bed, the mattress sagging beneath her, and pulled up the covers. His arms slipped away with what felt like reluctance and the loss pierced her drowsiness. She whimpered in protest and waited for him to slide in beside her. She kept her eyes shut. Looking at him veered too near to admitting she'd stopped fighting. She heard him sigh. His clean scent flooded her senses when he pressed his lips to her forehead then briefly kissed her mouth.””

— Anna Campbell