Asher's eyes fluttered open, vision swimming before it sharpened on a pair of radiant emerald eyes, deep as forest canopies and alight with warmth.
They belonged to the most enchanting face he knew, his wife's.
The first sensation that greeted him was the heat of a damp towel pressed gently against his bare chest, the faint scent of rose steam curling into his senses.
He rose slowly with a muted grunt, the motion stiff and unyielding, like a war machine long left dormant and only now coaxed back to life.
Sapphira, with a grace that seemed to belong to a dream, swept into his arms, resting her head against his shoulder. Her silken hair, smelling faintly of rose, brushed against his neck as if to remind him she was real.
"You're back," she whispered, her voice trembling between relief and joy.
Asher shut his eyes, drawing her closer, his muscular arms wrapping around her with the protectiveness of a fortress wall.
