“If sex is dignified it’s not being done right.”

“There’s a point.” He smiled down at her, cupping her breasts now, laying his lips lightly on hers. “Look at you,” he murmured, “all mine for two more lovely weeks.”

“Now you’re just trying to soften me up.” And softened, she reached out to comb her fingers through his hair.

All hers, she thought in turn.

“It’s good, being here.” She took his shirt by the hem, drew it over his head. Once again laid her palm on the healing wound. “Getting here, we’ll forget all about that. But being here, it’s good.”

“It’s been an interesting journey altogether.”

“I wouldn’t have missed a single mile.” She framed his face now, lifted until their lips met. “Even the rocky ones.”

When he lowered to her, she drew him in, and sighed.

Eyes closed, she ran her hands over the good, strong muscles of his back, let the shape and scent of him seep into those places inside her that always waited. Always opened, always welcomed.

She turned her head, found his lips again. Longer, deeper into a drift as easy and sweet as the night air.

The bed gave another rusty squeak, made her laugh. Then another as she shifted to him. “We should try the floor.”

“Next time,” he suggested, and made her laugh again. Made her sigh again. Made all those waiting, welcoming places warm.

And when they curled together, sated and sleepy, she nuzzled in and said, “Whoopee.”

She woke in the gray, shot straight up in bed.

“What was that? Did you hear that?” Naked, she leaped out of bed to grab the clutch piece she’d left on the little bedside table.

“There! There it is again! What language is that?”

From the bed, Roarke shifted. “I believe it’s known as rooster.”

With the weapon at her side, she stared at him, slack-jawed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Not a bit. It’s morning, more or less, and that’s a cock signaling the dawn.”