Rather than his alarm clock, it was the movement beside him that jolted Foreman awake. He wanted to keep his eyes closed and ignore the daylight seeping in through the window. His right arm hurt like hell, and he realized after a moment it was because he hadn't moved it or gotten much circulation all night. Squinting, he opened his eyes reluctantly. Almost before he realized it, he was grinning. Amber was hovering close to him, one side of her face red where she'd slept on a fold of the sheets, her hair flyaway and tangled. She managed to look completely disheveled and completely desirable in the same instant. His first instinct was to roll over, cover her and pin her down and kiss her, and his body tensed, ready to follow through, when he remembered that she wouldn't want him to. Instead, Foreman pressed his lips together to hold back a chuckle. "Morning," he answered her, and lifted his left hand--the only one that would still obey him--to trace the line of the pillow crease down her cheek, stroking her hair back from her face. "This is incredibly sexy," he teased.

Feeling satisfied, and, other than the rush of pins and needles down from his right shoulder, well-rested, Foreman relaxed and settled on his back. He slapped the alarm clock off and lifted his arms to stretch, extending his legs and twisting his torso as much as he could without leaving the warm nest they'd created in the sheets. The air was cool in his apartment, but he kept it that way knowing it would wake him up quickly. He wouldn't have much of a chance to get his full routine done in the time before they had to be out the door, but somehow, this morning, he couldn't make himself rush.