“This time,” she said, “there is no battle to fight.”
“No,” he agreed.
She came to him slowly, her fingers brushing his cheek.
“No more goodbyes.”
“No more running,” he whispered.
“No more pretending,” she said, kissing him softly.
His hand trailed up her leg, taking her skirt with it. Her breath caught as his fingers traced higher, ghosting over her thigh.
“No more doubts,” Johnathan murmured against her lips.
Frances smiled, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “No more restraint.”
She pushed him gently back onto the bed, mindful of his injury. Her hands made quick work of the buttons on his breeches as she straddled his hips. Johnathan’s breath hitched, his good hand tangling in her hair as she leaned down to kiss him deeply.
“I love you,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “I have always loved you.”
“And I you,” she breathed, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “My rogue. My darling husband.”
Their bodies moved together, slow and deliberate, savoring every touch, every sigh. The fire cast dancing shadows across their skin as they explored each other anew, learning the maps of scars and freckles, the secret places that made breath catch and muscles quiver.
And finally—finally—there was nothing between them but love.
