Long, soul-wrenching sobs broke from her throat. She’d denied it for so long, but the truth was that she would never see Camille again. They would never laugh together until they gasped, unable to catch their breaths and cry joyous tears, never fight tooth and nail, each so stubborn she wouldn’t break down.

“Oh, Cammie,” she wept aloud. “Oh, God.”

Throughout the storm, Slade held her. Never saying a word, his arms strong, the beat of his heart steady, his breath ruffling her hair.

“I–I’m so sorry,” she forced out.

“Shhh.”

“No, Slade, I’m so damned sorry,” she said when most of the rage that propelled her grief had slipped away. “For us and the way I treated you, for blaming you when I should have known . . .”

“It’s over,” he said, still attempting to calm her.

“Is it? For us? Is it too late?”

He paused and then whispered, “I don’t know.”

Neither did she. Be careful what you wish for. Hadn’t she heard the saying a thousand times in her life? And hadn’t she wished that she and Slade could divorce quickly? Hadn’t she rued the day she’d met him? Hadn’t she regretted getting married so quickly?

And now . . .

In bed, with only the ashes of the nightmare and Slade’s strength, his resolute iron will, his once-vibrant love, she knew she’d been mistaken.

“I . . . I love you,” she admitted brokenly.

“I know.”

She waited a bit, sniffing. “You do?”

“I’ve always known. I was waiting for you to catch up.”

“What?” She pulled her head back and looked up at him. “You’re kidding, right? When someone bares their soul and says they love you, the normal response is, ‘I love you, too.’ ”

“But you already know that. I’ve told you over and over.”

She took in a long, shuddering breath. “Wait a second. Something’s wrong here—why not now? Why can’t you say it now?”

“Because it would be just the normal, expected response.” His eyes darkened just slightly. “And I don’t ever want us to get into that rut. To do what’s expected. The common. When I tell you I love you, I want it to be heartfelt.”

“Every damned time.”

“Yep,” he said. “At least.” And then he kissed her. Long. Hard. With the passion that she remembered so vividly. She closed her eyes and didn’t know how he managed to kick off his jeans and T-shirt, or how the bedside light was turned off, but all those things happened.

And she was with him again.

His hands sculpting down her rib cage, his mouth tasting as she remembered. His lips pressed urgently to hers—warm, demanding, and she responded, opening her mouth and feeling his tongue slip familiarly against her teeth.