Jackson wakes me up the next morning by running his strong hand up the back of my thigh.

It takes me a half second to realize I'm not in my bed back home anymore, but then I roll over and open my eyes to his chiseled face and remind myself, This is your home now.

"Morning, sunshine." Somehow, Jackson doesn't look like he just woke up; he looks like he just stepped off a catwalk. I, on the other hand, can tell my hair is a bee's nest, and I desperately need to brush my teeth.

"How do you look so handsome already?" I ask. "When I look like I...