Chapters (47)
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- CHAPTER 11
- CHAPTER 12
- CHAPTER 13
- CHAPTER 14
- CHAPTER 15
- CHAPTER 16
- CHAPTER 17
- CHAPTER 18
- CHAPTER 19
- CHAPTER 20
- CHAPTER 21
- CHAPTER 22
- CHAPTER 23
- CHAPTER 24
- CHAPTER 25
- CHAPTER 26
- CHAPTER 27
- CHAPTER 28
- CHAPTER 29
- CHAPTER 30
- CHAPTER 31
- CHAPTER 32
- CHAPTER 33
- CHAPTER 34
- CHAPTER 35
- CHAPTER 36
- CHAPTER 37
- CHAPTER 38
- CHAPTER 39
- CHAPTER 40
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
A clumsy hand fumbles for my face sleepily, though her fingers are delicate when they graze my lips. There is a tiny cut on the corner of my mouth that Ana has been nothing but solicitous toward. Even when she kisses it. Again and again and again.
“Don’t bring your filthy logic into this. I’m sleeping.”
“My logic is anything but filthy. It is pristine.”
With a huff, Ana rolls over, presumably to escape any further applications of my logic, filthy or otherwise.
But I do not think I am interested in letting her go.
“Just where do you think you’re going?”
I follow her deeper into the sheets, wrapping my arm around her waist. She puts up only a token protest, but judging from the grin flirting with her lips, she’s not overly perturbed by my disruption of her slumber. Slowly, she unfurls into me, stretching her own arms up and around my neck. Her hands tangle with my hair. It’s probably a godawful mess, but I don’t care. Well, I might care a little, but I never said I wasn’t vain.
“Good morning,” she says when our eyes meet. In the wan morning sun, her eyes are a startling green. Like a cat’s.
“Even better now that you’re awake.” I lean into press a kiss to the tip of her nose. She scrunches up her face.
“I hate it when you do that.”
“Why?”
“It’s too cute. We have a reputation to maintain.”
But that doesn’t stop her from nuzzling into my space, inserting her nose into the crook of my neck to press her own kiss to the juncture of my shoulder.
“Ah, yes,” I say, carding my fingers through her hair. “The Valiant Ladies of Potosí. What a moniker.”
“I can’t believe that caught on,” Ana mumbles into my neck. “Whose fault was that?”
“Santiago’s.” The feeling of Ana’s hair sliding between my fingers is more fascinating than anything I can possibly imagine in this moment.
She nods, but she might also be using me as a scratching post for an itchy nose. I’ll allow it.
“Remind me to thank him for it later.”
I breathe in and out, allowing myself—finally—to relax. Having Ana pressed against me as a warm, pliant weight helps.