Chapter 107 Getting Closer to the rogue

Jane gasped, her eyes snapping open. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum solo echoing in her ears. Disoriented, she took in the dimly lit surroundings – the rickety wooden chair, the threadbare blanket draped over her, the single flickering candle casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. Then it hit her. The inn room. Lucian. The gunshot wound. Relief washed over her, a tidal wave calming the storm within. She was safe. Lucian was alive. But the remnants of the dream clung to her with an unsettling vividness. The warmth of Lucian's touch, the urgency of their intertwined bodies, the way his name had tumbled from her lips in a breathless plea – it all felt so real, so raw. A soft chuckle broke the silence. Jane whipped her head around, blood rushing to her cheeks as she met Lucian's amused gaze. He lay propped against the pillows, one corner of his mouth quirked into a devilish grin. "Seems your husband is keeping you well-entertained in your dreams, love," he dra