Daphne’s eyes cut to the clock on her bedside table, and she sucked in a breath. A team of people would be here in one hour to start her hair and makeup. She lifted a hand to shake Ethan awake, but instead she found herself tracing a finger over him—down the line of his jaw, the slope of his neck, to his shoulders and biceps. She felt suddenly ravenous for this, the sheer joy of touching him.
