“You never said what you do for a living,” he asked.
“Are you truly interested in talking about work?” Her gaze lowered to his mouth. “Or do you have another topic you’d like to explore?”
Later, he would not recall who made the first move. All he would remember was that they met in the middle. Tendrils of steam rising in the small space between them.
“Shall we end the battle?” she whispered, trailing a damp finger along his whiskered jaw. “Or continue wasting precious hours before dawn?”
For the past three years, he’d been embroiled in his own personal war. He’d put down skirmish after skirmish. But the war still raged, and he was tired. So fucking tired.
Tonight, he would lie in her arms and allow unsuspecting Liv to tend his wounds.
“Truce, my lady.”