All he had to do was walk into a room, and she wanted him. And when he kissed her, she begged for more. We both need to sleep.”Īnd she needed to be alone. Hadn’t he said so in his letter eight years ago? “You should leave.” She glanced at her clock. Those words stung more than his rejection. His body heaved, and he ran his hands over his prison-shorn hair. “Juliet.” The word rolled like a wave break. He broke away, leaving her a disoriented mess. The air around them vibrated, matching the motion of the kiss. Her world tilted, his arms tightened, and his lips explored hers as if he’d never kissed anyone else ever. And the ache became a need so great she threw her arms around his neck. She tilted her head, and the brush became a demand. How, after all these years, could she still be so susceptible to him? Because he’d once been her husband.
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