Blake’s PovOh damn, it was perfect. He was perfect. He was hardly more than a silhouette, this tall, sleep-rumpled, barefoot, sexy husband of mine, standing outside the balcony, watching the new day rise out of the dark sky of the night. It was still barely morning, maybe six, but it was starting to get bright. I stared at Ridge again, checking out his long legs, long arms, and a big coffee mug in an equally big hand, dark stubble on a sharp profile at the break of dawn. He was staring off into the far horizon, but I wondered what was on his mind. My stomach grumbled, and I furrowed my brows, quickly pressing my hand against it, as if to muffle the sound. Ridge didn’t turn around; maybe he hadn’t heard it, or maybe he was just pretending not to, but I watched the corner of his mouth twitch, just barely, like he was holding back a smile. That was probably over something he was thinking about. I pulled the covers up around me and sank deeper into the pillows, still watching
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