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“I know I’m dreaming,” she whimpered. “Please, God, don’t let me wake up.”

When I added a second finger and sucked on her sensitive nub, Kensington’s back arched as she cried out. I curled the tips of my fingers, sucking harder as she rode out her powerful climax.

“Taste yourself on me,” I murmured, bringing my mouth to hers. When I ran my tongue over her lips, they opened.

She pulled back and stared into my eyes as she unfastened the buttons on my shirt. When she reached the bottom button and went for my trousers, I grasped her wrist with my hand.

“Please,” she begged.

“Not tonight, Kensington,” I murmured. When I tried to kiss her again, she pulled back.

“Why not?”

Could I explain that it was too important to me? That I had to be certain I was ready before joining our bodies together? Would she understand it would mean more to me than casual sex? That it could never be casual between us?

The lines in her forehead softened as did the look in her eyes. “I understand.” She rested her hand on my heart. “Can I stay?”

“I won’t let you go.”

Kensington smiled and rested her head where her hand had been. I could feel her understanding, even though I couldn’t read her thoughts—and that terrified me more than anything else.

When I woke after sunrise, Kensington was gone. I got out of bed and walked to the window. My heart stopped when I saw her. She was sitting on the grass above Celestina’s grave.

11

Kensington

When the sun on the horizon interrupted my dreams, I got out of bed and dressed. I had no intention of walking to the cemetery. No intention of leaving the house. In fact, I’d planned to sit in the solarium and watch the sun come up over the water. Instead, it was as though I was beckoned to come to where I now sat.

I ran my fingers over the letters carved into the stone. “Celestina Martínez DeLéon.” My heart clenched when I realized she was my age when she died six years ago. Marta had said that her and Cortez’s unborn baby was buried besi

de her, but the headstone made no mention of an infant.

“Tell me how to ease his pain,” I whispered, wishing I could talk to the woman who had been his wife, the mother of his child, whom I knew he’d loved with all his heart. Still loved, immeasurably.

A warm breeze, in contrast to the chill of the early morning, washed over me, and I closed my eyes.

“Love him.” A voice inside my head spoke to me.

Being beside him, having his hands on me last night, had felt so right. He never answered me when I asked him why we couldn’t make love, but it was as though he had. Understanding, like the warm breeze this morning, washed over me. He wasn’t ready, but he was also unwilling to let me go.

Today was Christmas Eve. I never would’ve predicted that Cortez would return until after the holidays. In fact, I remembered him saying that Epiphany was celebrated more in Spain. That’s why I slept in his bed. I missed him more than was logical, and by lying between the bedclothes that smelled of him, I felt like he was wrapped around me. I expected there would be more than a week before he’d return, and by then, Marta would’ve changed his sheets.

When I felt his arms around me, I was so certain it was a dream. I willfully chose not to open my eyes, praying it would go on and on. It was the feeling of his lips on mine that roused me. It felt so real because it was.

I turned my head when I sensed him watching me and then looked back at the stone. I brought my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I wasn’t ready to leave. In fact, I couldn’t.

I wondered if this was how Cortez felt when he spent hours sitting beside the place where his wife’s body rested, unable to make himself leave.

When I looked again, he was gone.

Since it was too chilly for a swim this morning, I took the trail down to the beach and ran as far as I could before the sand turned into rock.

I was about to run back the way I’d come when I looked up and saw Casper standing on the rocks above me. I shielded my eyes from the sun.

“Do you need something?”

When she shook her head, I felt like flipping her off. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me?”

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