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The reverend’s wife played the introductory bars on the piano then voices were raised. Samantha had sung the carol every Christmas since childhood but, as she joined her voice to others, the words held new meaning.
O holy night, the stars are brightly shining
It is the night of our dear Savior's birth
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new glorious morn
Fall on your knees
O hear the angels' voices
O night divine
O night when Christ was born
O night divine o night
O night divine.
Tears of happiness flowed when Parker leaned close to her ear. “That’s exactly what I felt when I met you. A thrill of hope.”
EPILOGUE
Four weeks later, on the morning after the ceremony binding her in marriage to Parker Cullen, Samantha awoke and stretched like a contented cat, relishing the feel of crisp sheets on her naked skin. She opened her eyes and scanned her surroundings, gradually remembering she was in her own little cottage in Bristol—hers and Parker’s. Excitement filled her. In a few days, her husband would take up his new duties as a detective inspector with the Bristol police force. A new and glorious morn had dawned.
But she was alone. Where was Parker?
She sat up and clutched the linens to her breasts, her body quivering with delight at the memory of her wedding night. She could scarcely wait to feel Parker’s manhood inside her again, though the first glimpse of his magnificent maleness had sent a pang of apprehension scurrying across her nape.
She needn’t have worried. He had patiently introduced her to unimagined sexual pleasures, and her screams of delight seemed to please him. But then he’d done a fair amount of growling and hollering himself.
She startled when a flushed Parker burst through the bedroom door, clad only in pajama bottoms. She licked her lips, welcoming the craving that spiraled into her womb at the sight of his broad chest.
“They got him,” he exclaimed. “At the docks in Southampton.”
“The American?”
“His name’s Darren Rorke,” he replied, climbing back into bed. “Moore telephoned from the station to tell me.”
She was relieved for him. He’d said nothing but she knew he thirsted for the man’s capture.
He took her into his arms. “Ready for breakfast? Or would you prefer to linger in bed?”
The evidence of his arousal pressed against her left little doubt which answer he was hoping for. “Spending the day in bed sounds wonderful.”
“A whole day,” he exclaimed, coaxing the linens away from her breasts. “I’ve wed a woman with an insatiable sexual appetite.”
“Hah,” she laughed just before his kiss reignited the flames of desire.
