Miranda awakened with an unusual surge of energy coursing through her body. The confrontation with Rosalyn yesterday had provided a sense of closure she hadn't realized she craved. In retrospect, Rosalyn had been more of a nuisance to Nolan than to her. Miranda simply detested manipulative women, and Rosalyn had certainly proven herself to be one of the worst.
The memory of Rosalyn's face—that moment of realization when she understood she'd been completely outmaneuvered—was something Miranda would cherish for quite some time.
Nolan was already up, perched on the edge of the bed, his attention fixed on his tablet. God, he looked irresistible, and he was all hers. He glanced up, sensing her movement.
"Morning, warrior princess," he said with that half-smile that made her heart race. "Sleep well?"
