Sweet Prison (Perfectly Imperfect #10)

Consummate inner peace. That’s what lying in bed, with my body spooning Zahara’s, feels like. Despite us being practically intertwined, I tighten my hold around her middle, needing to feel her even closer. I wasn’t kidding when I said I wished I could handcuff her to my side. I want her with me. Always. Even now, this absurd urge revs up another degree, and I squeeze her to me harder. She wriggles slightly. Immediately, I loosen my hold and bury my nose in the tangle of her light-brown hair, inhaling long and deep.

Her hair actually reminds me of liquid honey. It shimmers with different shades in the light. At first glance, it might seem like a simple darker hue, however, under intense scrutiny, the golden strands appear here and there. Beautiful. Radiant. Enticing. I’ve known women who spent good money at salons to get that sun-kissed streaky look.

Highlights. They are called highlights.

Yes. Highlights. But not her.