She stared at him in silence. Then, when he’d almost given up hope, she choked out a sound halfway between a sob and laughter.
“Cameron,” she said. “Oh, Cameron, my beloved.”
The world, his anger, the disillusionment Cam had carried with him most of his life, were all swept away. He caught Leanna to him and kissed her.
She tasted as she had in his dreams, sweet as honey, rich as cream. Her tears, under the sweep of his thumbs, were warm as summer rain. And when she sighed his name, he knew he would forgive her for not coming to him, that he would forgive her for anything as long as he never lost her again.
“Salome,” he whispered.
He lifted her into his arms, his mouth on hers, his tongue between her lips, and carried her the few feet to the bed. He lay her down slowly, still kissing her, torn between wanting the kiss to go on forever and the need to pull off his clothes, bury himself inside her and make her his again.
Leanna dug her hands into his hair. “Don’t leave me,” she begged. “Cameron, don’t ever leave me again.”
“Never,” he said fiercely.
He took her hands and kissed them, bent to her and nipped her throat, kissed his way to her breasts, exulting in the richness of her scent as he sucked the beaded tips into his mouth. When she cried out in pleasure, Cam tore off his jacket, his shirt, then scooped her tightly against him, groaning aloud at the feel of her skin on his.
“Tell me you’ve missed me,” he demanded. “Tell me you’ve dreamed about me doing this.”
“Yes,” Leanna sobbed, “yes, yes! I’ve missed you. I’ve dreamed about you. Cam. Come inside me. Please, I want you inside me. I need to feel you. I need—”
She arched against him as he slid his hand between her thighs. She was wet and hot, for him. Only for him, he knew, and then he couldn’t wait, couldn’t wait, could only unzip his fly, spread his hands beneath her, lift her to him, drive deep inside her…
Her scream of completion rose into the night. She locked her arms around his neck and rose up to him, her body convulsing around his, her fingernails scoring his back. Cam rode the wave of ecstasy with her, letting the first delicate contraction of her womb sweep him toward the edge of sanity.
He crushed her mouth with his, bit i
nto the tender flesh, tasted blood—hers or his, he didn’t know, didn’t care—as she sucked his tongue into her mouth.
Sobbing his name, Salome collapsed against the pillows.
Cam flung back his head, cried out, and flew with her into paradise.
Leanna had read that the French sometimes referred to orgasm as le petit mort. The little death. The phrase had seemed elegant but impossible.
Now, she knew the truth of it.
Surely she had died of ecstasy in her lover’s arms.
Long seconds passed. Somehow, she dragged breath into her lungs. Cam rolled onto his side with her still tightly held in his embrace.
“My Salome,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her closed eyelids.
His Salome. Her heart swelled at the sound of the name that belonged only to the two of them.
“Cam,” she said, just as softly. She cupped her hand around his jaw, felt the rough silk of his end-of-day stubble, and met his lips in a long, slow kiss. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
“I’m very all right,” he said, laughing softly.
She smiled. “Yes. Oh, yes, you are. But I meant, I’m so glad you—you—”
“You’re glad I what, sweetheart?”
“Lived,” she said, her voice breaking.
Was it her imagination, or did he pull away just a little?
“Yeah,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Well, me, too.” A second slipped by. He cleared his throat again. “If it mattered to you—if it did, how come you never—how come you never—”