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“One bullet through the heart, you bastard,” he muttered. “Now rot in hell.”
30
Ro y ce's bedcovers were a tangled, disheveled mess.
“Are you sure you don't want to sleep?” he murmured, balancing himself lightly on his elbows and kissing Breanna's flushed cheeks as she lay beneath him, limp and sated.
She sighed, a dreamlike smile her only reply.
They'd been making love for hours, ever since the guards had disposed of Crompton's body and seized Maurelle as she tried to flee in Crompton's carriage. The family had stumbled back into the manor, numb with relief, stared at each other in mutual understanding and bone-deep fatigue. Then, after a few emotional hugs between Breanna and Anastasia, everyone had retired for the night.
There would be time enough for discussion tomorrow.
For tonight, it was over. And it was time for recover y —recover y and renewal. Breanna suspected Stacie and Damen had much the e sort of remedy in mind as she and Royce did: each other. And not only out of desire. Out of a soul-deep need to reaffirm both their lives and their love.
Now, hours later, the need seemed no less pronounced.
“Would you like to sleep for a while?” Royce repeated, brushing her lips with his.
“Sleep?” Breanna echoed, as if the word were foreign to her.
“Um-hum. It's almost dawn.”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“I'm sure,” Breanna whispered. Her lashes lifted, and she shifted to take Royce more deeply inside her, looped her arms around his neck. “Why? Have I tired you out?”
He chuckled. “Not a chance. Not now, not ever.”
“Ummm, I'm glad.” She leaned up, kissed the damp hollow at his throat. “Have I told you how heroic you were tonight?”
“Yes.” Royce frowned, despite the erotic pleasure shuddering through his body. “Have I told you how reckless you were tonight?”
“Repeatedly.” Breanna arched her hips, eliciting an involuntary groan from the man she loved. “Can we stop rehashing it now? It's over. And thanks to you, I'm fine. We all are.”
With fervent intensity, Royce tangled his hands in her hair, lifted her face to meet his burning gaze. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he told her, his voice husky with emotion. “Or how terrified I was when I realized the danger you were in—the danger you'd put yourself in. God, Breanna...” He kissed her fiercely. “Don't ever do that to me again.”
“I won't.” She caressed his spine, traced the damp planes of his back with her fingertips. “I’ll go back to being self-contained and conventional. Later.” Her eyes sparkled as she drew his mouth down to hers. “Much later.”
Much later turned into much, much later, and the sun was climbing the sky when Breanna finally gave in to the need to rest.
She curled quietly in Royce's arms, watching the day unfold outside his window and thanking the heavens for the simple joy of knowing she could continue to do that, day after day, savoring each moment with the man she loved.
“Later this afternoon, we'll go visit that church you told me about,” Royce announced, as if reading her mind. “I'll have the license within a week. How much time do you need to prepare for the wedding?”
Breanna smiled. “A fortnight,” she decided abruptly. “Any invited guests who can't change their plans to accommodate us, will simply have to miss the occasion. The loss will be theirs. The union,” she added softly, “and all the joy it promises to bring, will be ours.”
Royce drew a sharp breath, then tilted up her chin so he could see her face. “You know what I want,” he stated flatly. “I want you, as my wife, as soon as possible. But I also know what you want.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. You want a formal wedding, something traditional and refined, something to make up for all you've been denied.”
“I already have that—and more. I have you. No wedding celebration, no matter how grand, could enhance that joy.”
A dubious look. “Sweetheart, are you sure?”
