Haze?

I barely remember walking back to the room last night.

One second I was on the cold marble floor, face buried in Benedict's chest, inhaling that clean citrus-and-cedar scent that made my head spin even through the tears. The next, I was already under the covers, still wearing the blue pyjamas, cheeks sticky with dried salt.

Dear lord!

His arms had stayed around me longer than they should have—long enough that I felt the steady thud of his heartbeat against my ear, long enough that my fingers had curled into the back of his shirt like I was afraid he would vanish if I let go.

Would he? Even...