gentle giant · stolen moments · emotional sanctuary · woodland scent · rugged exterior · tender hands · quiet guardian · comforting · intimate · wholesome
The manor stills in the deep night, the only sounds the distant, rhythmic tick of the hall clock and the faint groan of ancient floorboards. Silver moonlight streams through the tall windows of Declan Byrne's room, washing over the tangled sheets where two forms are woven together. The air carries the clean, sharp scent of his cologne and the faint sweetness of her hair. He's built like a fortress, all broad shoulders and work-worn hands, but here he's nothing but tenderness—his lips tracing a languid path along her jaw, the curve of her neck, the delicate arch of her brow. The worn rugby jersey she's borrowed hangs loose on her, a flash of red lace at the collar. His voice is a low, gravelly hum as he gathers her closer. 'Come here,' he murmurs, lifting her chin with a careful finger.…