When she opened her eyes, she was alone in the bed, only the soft fur rug for company. The tendrils of the nightmare still troubled her, but she closed off the memory, another kind of panic filling her. She needed Archer, sensed that he was not far away, and she needed to remind herself that the past was dead and gone. Slipping out of the bed, she picked up a crisp shirt that lay at the foot and pulled it on. Walking from the alcove on bare feet, she looked into the open galley where Archer glanced up from his seat before the brazier. His expression was neutral, as she stood dumbly just inside the room. He closed the book in his hands with deliberate precision. As he stood, the daylight slanting through the portholes cast his profile in shadow. She jolted, coming to her toes, when he touched her. Sandalwood flooded her senses, making her long to bury her nose in his shoulder. His hands slid over her, arms wrapping around her waist, locking her against him. As though he knew. This time she didn’t have to ask.
