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“I know.” He reached for her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist.
Because he could.
Which naturally led to him trailing his lips up her arm, across her shoulder, and along the curve of her neck.
“Wait. Wait.” She laughed, pushing gently against his chest. “I’ve got something to show you.”
“So do I,” he murmured, lifting an eyebrow as he hitched his hips.
She giggled.
An actual, bona fide giggle.
The playful side of her warmed him. It had been worth every lonely mile she’d driven to find this version of herself.
She tilted her head. “You know what? That can wait. This cannot.” Her hand disappeared beneath the blanket.
Ronan really, really liked this version of Felicity.
It was much later when they finally stumbled into the house, sidestepping the ladies making their displeasure at having been left alone abundantly clear.
They cooked up some scrambled eggs and ate straight from the pan.
That was when she placed a framed photograph on the table. “My family.”
It wasn’t difficult to pick Felicity out. She was the only blonde among the brunettes. His gaze settled on the woman holding the youngest girl close.
“Your mom looks so sad,” he said gently.
“She was.” Her thumb brushed over the edge of the frame. “I’ve chosen to believe she did the best she could. And that, if she’d lived, she’d have gotten us away.”
Her expression turned inward. “I went back. To Newport. To … Falcon’s Watch.”
His chest tightened. He hated that she’d faced that nightmare alone.
“I laid a few ghosts to rest.” She tapped the frame. “Found this.” A small shrug. “And left.”
Ronan knew there was still a world of pain behind that dismissive shrug. Maybe one day she’d tell him. Maybe she wouldn’t. Time would tell.
So long as the shadows stayed out of her eyes, he’d follow her lead. He rested his hand on the table, palm up.
Without hesitation, she slipped her hand into his. “And then I came home.” Her eyes met his, full of quiet certainty. “To you.”
Epilogue
A few months later …
“Grave robbing? Not exactly the life of crime I had in mind.”
Felicity laughed. Hard. She’d been doing that a lot lately. It felt … good. “You’d rather kill?”
Ronan scowled, glancing around at the headstones cloaked in darkness. “Yeah. I think I would. This” — he shivered — “this is just plain wrong.”
They were in Narragansett, Rhode Island. In the middle of the night. Standing in a cemetery with a spade and a crowbar. Ronan was right. She refused to admit it. “I’ll do the digging. You watch my six, Marine.”
“That’s the only reason I agreed to this insanity,” he muttered.
Two rows up, she stopped before a small marble headstone.
