He had ached for this, ached to kiss her, hold her close, feel something other than the emptiness that consumed him. She tasted of sweetness, kindness, and something else, something he fought to deny, something he thought he’d never find… love.

The thought poked at him. Lingering there, tormenting him… love. It wasn’t possible. At least not for him. Still though, she tasted so good, warm and inviting, and she pressed against him with a passion that couldn’t be ignored.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He fought against the maddening passion and tore his lips away from hers with great difficulty.

“I’ll take you here and now if we don’t stop,” he said with feral growl.

Willow clamped her lips shut, sound reasoning rushing up to grab hold of her as she fought to control the response that had rushed to spew out.

Take me; I’m yours.

What was she thinking? This couldn’t be. It could never be. Could it?

Until she could make sense of things, she’d have no answer and without an answer, without reasonable thought how could she trust herself to do anything?

She spoke what she felt. “You sway me too easily.”

Slatter rested his brow to hers. “That is not something you should say to me, mo ghaol.”

Did her tired mind hear him correctly? Did he just call her my love?

Be sensible, Willow, you’re tired and are hearing what you think you’d like to hear, she warned herself. Your marriage is a lie. Your husband is a liar. And most importantly, he doesn’t love you.

“I’m tired,” she said as if it explained all.

“Sleep,” he urged.

Please sleep or else I’ll wind up sealing our vows, sealing us together for the rest of our lives.

A thought that was more appealing than he ever would have imagined, but not at all possible.

When her body went limp with sleep and her breathing turned light, he couldn’t have been more relieved. Of course, it didn’t help the ache in his groin or ease his thoughts of making love to her. He wanted his wife with a passion he had never known.

He’d have his need of a woman. It was like an itch that needed to be scratched and when that itch struck, he’d go find a willing woman. This was different. It wasn’t an itch he had for Willow, it was a thirst he feared would never be quenched. He’d always want her and not only to make love to, but to hold, to kiss, to wrap himself around her and sleep more contentedly than he had in a long time.

Mo ghaol.

He had called her my love and he had meant it.

He was in serious trouble.

Willow woke beyond cold, shivering after rubbing at her eyes to make certain it was a light dusting of snow she saw that covered her and Slatter.

She smiled when she heard him mutter several oaths.