He should walk across the room and pull her to her feet. He imagined tipping her head back, brushing the hair off her cheek, and kissing her eyelids as he murmured platitudes and accepted her apology, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not when everything between them was raw and unspoken.

The easy thing would be to pull her body next to his, lift her off her feet, and carry her into the bedroom. In his mind’s eye, he saw her naked beneath him, anxious and hot, lifting her hips to his as he thrust into her. Her hair would be wild on the pillows, dark with sweat, her breasts full, dark, incredible nipples erect and waiting for him to take them into his mouth and kiss and nip at them.

Her legs would wrap around him, and she would gasp with an ache so deep that her throat would catch as he grabbed her buttocks and forced her tighter against him.

He knew that making love to her now would be a wild, frenzied act intent on washing away the pain, of reaffirming their lives while Camille would never again wake to a warm June morning.

He drained his beer and climbed to his feet.

“I think we both need to get some sleep,” he said, leaving the bottle on the table, not taking a step closer to her. “We should be at the police department around eight.” He walked to the door and hesitated. “We both have a lot to think about.”

Bo was on his feet, tail swinging slowly, head cocked. “Stay,” Slade said to the dog but ignored his own compelling urge to remain in the cozy little cottage. With his wife.

Oh, hell.

With one last look at Val, Slade managed a bit of a smile, then opened the door and screen before stepping into a night as thick and dark as an oozing pool of warm, black tar.

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 33

“It’s time,” the voice prodded. “Hurry.”

Sister Asteria slipped out of the room, a giddiness running through her bloodstream at the thought of what was to be. She picked up the folds of her long dress, lifting the hem so that her bare feet could hasten down the hallway, through pools of blurred light from decrepit sconces.

Elated, almost drunk, she stumbled a bit but caught herself and made quick tracks down the back stairs, where she’d been steered.

“He’s waiting.”

Yes! She hurried forward, feeling a sharp prodding that kept her moving. At the doors, she stopped, suddenly unsure.

“Now!” The voice was insistent. Demanding. “Go on!”

Deep inside, beneath her odd, fast-ebbing elation, she felt the first tremor of fear, a worry scratching at her brain, a tiny reminder that what was happening was wrong, so very wrong.