Ivy shot him a glare. “Who cares what you think? I’m tired. I’m going to sleep!”

She rolled over with exaggerated annoyance, turning her back to him.

Jamison just smiled, the corners of his mouth quirking up as he leaned in a little closer, “Ivy, are you blushing?”

“No, I’m not.”

“I really thought you were braver than that. The way you questioned me, you left me speechless.”

Ivy didn’t bother to reply.

Jamison tried again, “Ivy?”

“What?”

“Mind if I hold you while we sleep?” He was already shifting closer, his hand—still warm from patting her lower back—sliding gently around her waist to rest on her stomach.

Ivy’s body stiffened instantly, every muscle bracing; her waist was always sensitive. She wanted to protest, the words gathering unspoken on her lips, but in the end she just stayed silent and let him be.

Jamison, for his part, kept it gentlemanly. True to his word, he held her quietly, making no further moves.

Even though, God knows, he wanted to.

Neither of them slept well that night.

Jamison found no peace, his body burning with desire he had to forcefully tamp down.

For Ivy, restlessness came from the unfamiliarity of sharing a bed and being pressed up against someone else’s warmth—especially someone who radiated heat like a human furnace.

Whenever she drifted toward waking, she’d feel his hand resting lightly on her, soothing her with gentle pats, lulling her back to sleep as if she were a child.

Half awake, half dreaming, Ivy felt a wave of tenderness. It was as if she’d slipped back in time to her childhood, when her parents loved her dearly, treating her like their little princess, doting on her with every kindness.

She sank deeper into those memories, curling up like a baby, dreaming sweetly as she instinctively turned and burrowed closer, seeking the comfort of her mother’s embrace.

Jamison looked down at the small head nestled against his chest, her movements reminiscent of a kitten seeking affection.

He thought she must be having a nightmare, reaching for reassurance, and instinctively tightened his arms around her, holding her close.

But then, just as she settled into a comfortable position in his arms, she murmured drowsily, “Mom…”

A pang shot through Jamison’s heart as he realized what was happening. She was mistaking his embrace for her mother’s.

She must still long for her mother’s love, for the warmth of family—something she’d been so cruelly denied.

He stayed silent, afraid to shatter her fragile dream, and simply cradled her, stroking her hair with a gentle, trembling hand, comforting her as a mother would her child, until she slipped back into peaceful sleep.

Morning.

Ivy woke up still wrapped in Jamison’s arms.

Blinking open her eyes, she was momentarily disoriented by the sight of his chiseled jaw and the curve of his neck—then everything from the night before came rushing back.

Her heart skipped a beat. She squeezed her eyes shut again, scrambling for a plan—how exactly was she supposed to say good morning after that?

But Jamison was already awake.

Truth be told, he’d been up for a while. As a doctor, he was used to early mornings and hospital rounds—waking up at dawn was second nature. But last night, he’d arranged for his colleagues to cover for him, so today he could indulge, sleeping in and simply watching his own Sleeping Beauty.

“You really can sleep, you know that? It’s already eight o’clock.” He grinned, seeing right through her attempt to fake sleep, and called her out with a laugh.

Ivy pressed her lips together, shooting him a look. “How could I sleep with you wrapped around me all night? I could barely move. I didn’t sleep a wink.”

“You didn’t sleep well?” Jamison sounded genuinely surprised.