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But she took a little bit of pride in it. Even though she didn’t believe it was possible. But now she had an airtight alibi because there was no point worrying Fia.

It was amazing how this had shifted. It was no longer about getting attention. She didn’t want it.

She just wanted this to be about them.

About what passed between them. She didn’t need it to be about anything else.

She didn’t need it to be about her reputation, about the way the town saw her, about the way she left the place.

It simply didn’t matter.

It just didn’t.

She drove straight to his house and got out, walking with him up the front steps and inside.

Last night, she had never done this before. And that had given her a certain type of infusion of nerves.

The unknown.

This was different.

She had spent the evening with his family.

They had done mundane things like putting dishes in a cupboard, and it had felt transformative.

She looked at him, smiled, felt her heart beating like a wild thing, trying to escape.

Trying to get to him.

And when he kissed her, it was like a storm.

It wasn’t tentative, and it wasn’t careful. They already knew what she was doing here. They knew what they both wanted.

He lifted her up and set her on the counter, moving between her legs.

He cradled the back of her head and kissed her like he was starving.

He pushed her dress up her thighs, and she welcomed him in that space between.

Wrapped her legs around him, felt the hard ridge of his desire up against that cleft there.

This was wild, abandoned.

This had nothing to do with anything but passion. Wanting him. Needing him, and being wanted in return.

He moved his hands up her legs, grabbed hold of her underwear and pulled them down, effortlessly, easily, and then his hand was there, between her legs, stroking her and teasing her.

She was already so wet with her desire for him. Already so ready.

He was a glorious thing, the soldier in that moment.

Laser-focused and maybe a little bit dangerous, and she didn’t mind.

Because she felt equal to him.

She didn’t feel like she was the soft one, the weak one.

She didn’t feel like a weirdo. Didn’t feel like the sad girl mooning after a man she couldn’t have. She felt strong enough, brave enough for him. The woman who had married him hadn’t been strong enough for him. For the truth of him.