Michael woke up at the feel of his little angel curling up to his chest. A smile tugged at his lips when her sweet smell hit his senses. She was like a light, beckoning him to the path when everything turned dark.
Could he ever get enough of her? Last night, she had held him tight when his mind was a wreckage, his emotions all over the place, mourning his mother's demise.
Her nightgown was exposing her tender shoulders. Her slightly parted lips were like an invitation, driving him wild; but he stopped himself from devouring those when he noticed the traces of dried tears over her cheeks. She had cried for him last night.
Michael hated to admit that it was he who made her cry; if he had not cried last night, maybe she wouldn't have. But at the same time, he could see how much he meant to her. And as if to prove it, he witnessed Layla's hands searching for him.
