Mimi hardly noticed. Her night had been a fitful one, and she’d slept little, or at least she thought so. Her dreams, when she’d had them, had been mixed with luscious kisses and bones of a faceless monster, both in a fog, both drawing her in, both haunting her. Now, as the clock on her bedside table said ten minutes to nine, she couldn’t seem to drag herself out of bed. She hadn’t slept so long in ages, and yet this morning, for a world of reasons, she didn’t want to leave the comfort of her covers. It had been two long, uncomfortable weeks since she’d kissed Nathan—a totally numbing and marvelously perfect experience that she relived every single moment in his presence. She’d wanted it more than he knew, and had accepted it with an enthusiasm completely unbecoming of a widow still in mourning. But then Nathan was a difficult man to deny. She doubted that she ever could. It had also brought back a whirlwind of memory—of that wonderful-turned-awful night long ago when she’d decided, after being cradled in his embrace in the cool night, that she would do nearly anything to be with him.
