He could see her much better from this angle, her face relaxed in the weak gray light of early dawn, her chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. The little strap of her top had slipped down off her shoulder. Owen fought the urge to go to her side, to do what exactly, he wasn’t entirely sure. But his feet carried him there before he even realized what he was doing, his fingers trailing softly along the line of the drooping white strap, and across the ridge of her exposed collarbone. He jerked his hand back sharply, swallowing hard. Damn. Her skin was even silkier than he had anticipated, dewy and warm, and he should not have touched it. He backed swiftly toward the doorway, shifted to pull the door shut again, and the bathroom floor creaked loudly. Morgan inhaled in a large gasp, but rolled over and fell silent again.
“Lala salama,” he whispered, Sleep well.