Too Wicked to Tame (The Derrings #2)(80)

Her lips moved against his skin, spiking a familiar haze of desire. “This isn’t real,” she murmured. “None of this real. I’m afraid to let you go, to find out—”

He pulled back and silenced her with a kiss that sent a lick of heat spiraling low in his gut. After a moment, he tore his lips free. Forehead pressed to hers, he said roughly, “It doesn’t get any more real than this.”

His eyes locked with hers, their gazes melding until he felt as if they were physically linked. In a ragged, desperate voice, he said, “I need to hear you say—”

“Yes,” she blurted, without the slightest hesitation, her eyes drilling into him with an intensity that shook him. “I will marry you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you. You are my dream.”

At that moment the rain increased, the skies dumping sheets of water on both of them. Heath lifted his face, relishing the water flowing over him, rinsing him clean.

“Heath,” she murmured, laughter in her voice. He looked down at her rain-sluiced face. “It seems we’re destined for muddy roads.”

“My little mud pie,” he murmured, trailing the back of his fingers over her wet cheek. “I suddenly find that I have a great fondness for muddy roads.”





Epilogue


Six months later


Shielding her eyes with one hand, Portia tilted her head back to view the sun-baked white columns stretching into a cloudless blue sky. For a long moment, she could only stare, allowing the reality of standing before the Parthenon to wash over her, a warm balm to the soul.

A strong hand settled at the small of her back, capturing her attention. Turning, she looked up into Heath’s face. So dear. So familiar. Warm wind blew his hair across one cheek. Her heart constricted at the tender look in his eyes. A look reserved for her.

The trip had been his gift to her—their wedding vows barely uttered before he had her on a ship sailing across the Channel. He had teased that they would need a relaxing honeymoon before returning home and suffering the come-outs of his sisters.

“Is it everything you dreamed?” The deep rumble of his voice slid though her like warm honey, the mere sound igniting her.

Her gaze skipped back to the structure that had endured two thousand years. She eyed a statue of Athena, staff in one hand, shield in the other. Its beauty alone pinched at her heart. The dignified hauteur of the goddess’s face whispered to her soul.

She returned her gaze to Heath, her husband, and felt an even deeper tug on her heart—a louder call to her soul.

“No,” she answered with a quiet certainty. Lacing her fingers through his, she squeezed his hand with hers. “But this is.”





Acknowledgments


A special thanks goes to all the players on my team: Carlye, Christy, Ane, Leslie, and Tera. As always, you were there for me every step of the way. A bit of each of you lives in these pages.

Thanks for pushing me, ladies.