“Antonella.”
She looked up—because if she didn’t, he would surely demand to know why. His eyes glittered diamond-hot.
“You are feeling regret?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then what is wrong?”
How did he always, always know? It was unnerving.
She tossed her hair over her shoulder, tilted her chin up. “There is nothing wrong. I was simply hoping you would make love to me again.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Her heart lodged in her throat. Perhaps she should have kept quiet, not been so bold—
“You will be the death of me,” he said softly. “And I find I can think of no better way to die.”
For the next two days they ate crackers, sausage and cheese from their meager stores, talked, made love, and listened to the weather. Antonella learned so many things about him in those two days—and she shared more of herself than she’d ever thought possible.
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