Those eyes locked on mine with unerring focus then. She didn’t so much as blink as her fingers resumed between us. Slow at first, building faster. And on her lips . . . I leaned closer still, almost touching her now. Never touching her. When she breathed my name—a condemnation, a plea, a prayer—the sound virtually undid me. My hand plunged into my own pants. At the first touch, I nearly broke.

“Do I—” Lou rested her forehead against mine, near frantic now. A bead of sweat trickled between her breasts as she moved. I tracked its path mindlessly. “Do I make you feel wanton, husband? Does this—make you feel ashamed?”

No. God, no. Nothing about this felt shameful. My chest constricted tighter at the word—too tight, too small to contain the emotions rioting there. I couldn’t describe them, except that they felt—she felt— “You make me feel right. Whole.”

A shiver swept my spine at the confession. At the truth. My skin tingled in anticipation. Her voice might’ve broken on a sob, on my name, and the moment she came undone, I did too. One hand rose to clutch my shoulder. Mine seized her knee. Our eyes remained open as we shuddered together, and when I sagged into her—gutted—she brushed her lips against mine. Gentle, this time. Tentative. Hopeful. Her chin quivered. Without a word, I engulfed her in my arms, holding her tight.

She’d seemed so strong since the beach. So tough and unyielding. Impervious to hurt or harm. But here—after breaking, shattering beneath my gaze—she seemed fragile as glass. No, not glass.

My wife.

I couldn’t remember. Those memories had disappeared, leaving great cracks of emptiness in my identity. In my mind. In my heart.

No, I couldn’t remember.

But now I wanted to.

The Belly of the Beast

Lou

As the sun crested the horizon on the third morning, we slipped into Cesarine’s waters.

Jean Luc gripped the helm tighter than necessary, fingers twisting the wood in an agitated gesture. “This is going to get very ugly, very quickly.” His eyes flicked to me and Reid, who stood behind me at the rail. He’d hovered since that first day in the cabin, speaking little and frowning often. I’d expected as much. Reid wasn’t the type for casual flings. Our time on the table had meant something to him.

He just didn’t know what.

Still, when he thought no one could see, I’d catch him furrowing his brows and shaking his head, as if in silent conversation with himself. At times, his face would even contort with pain. I didn’t dare speculate at the cause—didn’t dare hope—instead focusing on what he’d freely given me. Though his words had been few, they’d been precious.

You make me feel right. Whole.

Despite the bitter cold, warmth suffused my body at the memory.