Hands slid up her torso and cupped her breasts while kisses rained onto her

back, touching one scar after the other. Her breasts tingled with familiar pleasure, and her breath caught, held, before releasing in a gasp. He plucked the

tender peaks as his lips slid lower down her back, dropping kiss after kiss on her

ruined flesh. Her body relaxed and moistened, but her mind remained confused,

trapped between the past and the present; the fear of pain and the pleasure of the

caresses.

Hands worked her nipples as the lips kissed down to her bottom. He knelt behind her. A tongue teased her folds.

She sucked air through her teeth in an audible hiss. The touch of lips and tongue on her intimate places tightened down her belly. Pleasurable tension coiled in her deepest recesses, awaiting the touch that would release it.

He ran his hands down her sides. One he braced on her hip. The other snaked

around her bottom and between her legs. Long blunt fingers slid deep into her,

tickling the secret places only he knew how to touch, and she exploded. The beauty of the orgasm broke through her terror and awakened her on a new level.

At last, Katerina came fully alive, on fire with pleasure that wrung ragged cries

from her throat.

Christopher rose behind her, covering her body with his so he could surge in

deep.

The fear is gone, she realized. He's behind me, and I'm not afraid orashamed. She bent forward, letting him thrust and pull back as she enjoyed being taken.

“Say it, Katerina,” he growled as he filled her.

“Oh, Christopher,” she moaned.

“Tell me,” he urged.

“I love you. Oh God, I love you, I love you. Oh yes.” Her head fell forward

as her pleasure peaked again. He came with her in a rush, groaning as he shoved

in deep and released.

He slid free and scooped her into his arms, carrying her to the bed and joining her so he could pull her close. He kissed her lips gently. “Did you mean

it, Kat?” he asked, suddenly sounding vulnerable.

“Yes. Did you?” She twined her arms around his neck.

“Of course.” His lips touched her forehead.

“Good. Then all is as it should be.”

“It is.” He traced her lower lip with the tip of his thumb before leaning close

and kissing her mouth again. “Good night, sweet girl.”

“Good night, my darling.”

In the morning, Christopher woke early. His lovely wife lay sound asleep on her

side in his arms, her back to him. He studied the ravaging scars in the light of dawn. She's my phoenix, my firebird, forged in hell and yet capable of carrying

me to heaven. Suddenly shy of his intense feelings, he slipped from the bed and dressed. Scrawling her a brief, affectionate note, he headed out for a walk.

A hint of warmth in the winter air carried a sensation of coming spring. He

walked through the olive grove and further out in the morning mist, over the tree-studded hill that separated the Bianchi family property from the unclaimed

land beyond.

The sun broke the horizon, coloring the landscape gold and scarlet and

sparkling on the waters of the Arno. Christopher felt a dawning hope. Oh, he had hoped before, hoped against hope, but now he dared to believe. Maybe she really

will be all right. Not just survive but thrive, be happy, live the kind of life shealways dreamed of.

He loved her with a fierce passion, and she loved him. She had said it, and

sung it, and meant it. He believed her.

A gust of wind cut through Christopher's coat and made him shiver.

“Blast.” The breeze carried with it a nearby voice, as well as a crumpled paper covered in messy handwriting and scratched-out errors. Christopher

picked it up. Nearby, another sheet tumbled past, and then another. He began collecting them, following the trail of papers back to the source. On the other end, he found a gentleman, a bit older than himself, with a full and bushy chestnut beard, but no mustache at all. The man was frantically scooping up scattered sheets as he went. Silently Christopher bent to help, and eventually returned a large pile to the stranger.

“Is that all of them?” the bearded man asked in perfect, unaccented English.

“I believe so, sir,” Christopher replied.

“Excellent. Thank you for your help.” He gathered the papers into a folio and

set it down, holding it shut against the wind with a rock. Then he extended his

hand.