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Pain.
Passion.
I imagine my lips brushing over his as Ibelievein him the way I did . . . until one spoiled second overshadowed any tragedy I’d ever endured. But I realize that Victor has crossed the ocean and circled the entire globe to vindicate a wrong. I won’t burden him with Madeline’s death. As sure as there’s a heart beating in my chest, she will die by my hand.
I press my lips to Victor’s in a kiss that rivals the moment the sun beckons a flower to bloom.
I start to unbutton Victor’s shirt, and he grips the collar causing the buttons to pop and scatter.
I take care of his undershirt. Beneath it, heavenly muscles and a new battle wound, one never touched by my lips, greet me.
Slowing down, I let my mouth savor the taste and the feel. I reverently love how Victor will fight like hell to save us.
He unbuckles the belt. The sound of leather cracking through the air sends me lurching from my short stature in an attempt to dive into his arms.
Okay. That was unexpected.
“I missed you, Victor Tudor,” I murmur against his surprised smirk.
“You finally missed me, yeah? I’ll let you show me how much after . . .”
“After what?” I press my soft body against his.
“You forgive me, Little One. I’ve not asked for forgiveness, but once in my life, love.”
First Emeli.
Now me.
That silly little vessel in my chest palpitates.
Swift.
Swift.
Faster.
Flip-flopping in my chest cavity. I have come to realize that Victor Tudor loveshis late wife and me with the same heart.
“Don’t apologize. I got scared a second ago, starting nagging—”
“Lux, you had every right.”
As I look up at the love of my life, I get lost in the moment.
“What?” he asks in that adorable British accent.
Adorable?Now I’m questioning myself too. “You changed,” I murmur before my body responds to his invitation.Victor’s presence, demeanor, all of him, entices me to lift onto my tippy-toes. The polarity of our kiss is dripping in lustandadulation alike.
“Alright,” I moan, dizzy with desire. “Apologize if you must.”
“I truly must, Little One.” Victor’s callused thumb wipes away the happy tears from my cheeks.
Though tender, he tenses as he elaborates, “For not being there.”
“Vic, stop. You saved me.” I gasp and then laugh at the insanity of it all. “How many men have gone to a foreign country to save the one they love? If the situation were reversed, I’d have prayed for you and cried myself to death—”
“You’re a woman.”
