Monday. Hotel, Atlanta, GA.
CANDI SLID HER FINGERS over the rough sheets. Seriously, they had the texture of paper towels yet were somehow indestructible. What was with that?
Q shifted in his sleep. The arm around her waist tightened.
She smiled into the darkness as warmth suffused her body.
It was like he never wanted to let go.
Reality nibbled at the edges of her mind. She shoved it away. For now, in the darkness, she could have the dream. Even if it came with a lumpy bed and weird linens.
The alarm clock glared at her from the bedside table.
Two o' clock.
Mom had always called this the witching hour. Candi could still remember the first time she'd done true research. She'd been trying to find out how, exactly, the witching hour worked. What she'd found instead was a myriad of folk tales and superstition. Her younger self had been quite disappointed in that revelation. However, she would never forget the thrill of diving into it and figuring things out for herself.