The most beautiful woman in the world was back in his arms. It was surreal to Rome to think, only a few hours ago, he’d been convinced that Ella was dead, that he’d never run his fingers through these silky locks again, never kiss those honey lips or trail his hand across her soft skin.
Making love to her now, after all they’d been through, was even better than it had been before, and he never would’ve thought that possible. The two of them had become one, and he’d relished each second, concentrating on feeling her with every fiber of his being.
Brushing her hair away from her cheek, Rome cradled her in his arms. The sun was down now, but the curtains were closed tight as they lay in bed together. “Where do you want to go?” Rome asked her, his voice husky even to his own ear.
“Wherever you are,” she said, running her hand down his back and igniting him with excitement again.
Smiling at her, he asked, “The Caribbean? Australia? Siberia?”
