Something new floated inside her, light and playful. “After a year of marriage? A year and three days?”

“I missed our anniversary? All the more reason to take you out.” He shrugged, making her aware of the breadth of his shoulders. “I was hoping if I took you someplace nice, I might get a good-night kiss.”

A fog swirled inside, heady and delicious. Leah glanced to the side and raised one shoulder, hoping she looked coy. “On our first date? Really, Sergeant.”

“Unless . . .” His thumb made circles on her lower back. “Unless I could talk you into a kiss right now.”

“In the library?” She gazed around the unusually empty space.

“No one’s here.” His face pressed to her cheek. “Besides, we’re married.”

The fog settled into all her limbs, dissolving them, and she leaned into him for support. “You did just come home from war.”

“I did.” His breath tingled on her jaw. “And that kiss I gave you yesterday? That was about the worst homecoming kiss ever. I can do better.” His mouth slid over her cheek.

This time she was prepared and tilted her head in the right direction.

Oh, but how unprepared she was. At the touch of his lips, everything in her fell apart then came together in a new way, one with him, melded with him, she belonging to him and he belonging to her.

Their first kiss had given her a glimpse of what the poets wrote about, but this one was poetry they wrote together, silently singing in a meter all their own.

“A lifetime of this,” she murmured against his lips.

“I won’t mind getting a kiss like that every night.”

“Starting tonight.”

Clay’s eyes widened, and hers did too. They shared a house. As man and wife. A man and wife deeply in love with each other.

“Um.” Clay mashed his lips together. “Maybe I should—it’ll make you more comfortable if I find someplace else to sleep while I’m in town.”

Leah stroked his strong cheekbones and knew without a doubt where she wanted him to sleep. “In the—in the orphanage we always slept two, even three to a bed. Sleeping alone feels strange to me. Lonely.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Leah . . .”

“I’m not saying . . . we don’t have to . . . you know.” She squirmed around the words she couldn’t say.

“Sweetheart.” Clay leaned his forehead against hers. “I know what—that man did to you. I don’t want to hurt you, to rush things. I love you enough to wait, however long it takes.”

“I know.” His hair was smooth and soft under her fingers. “I trust you. I trust you completely.”

He kissed her nose. “We’ll take things slowly, I promise.”

The nose wasn’t enough, and she kissed his lips. “Don’t go somewhere else tonight. Please? Last night I felt safe. I slept so well—knowing you were close.”