Their bed moved back and forth, folding them together so that she was lying on top of him. She sighed in contentment and rubbed her face on his chest, relishing the caress of springy hair on her cheek. “Nice,” she whispered, feeling his knee slide between her legs. She’d dreamed of him before, her captain, but never so vividly, nor with such pleasure. She felt warm and safe, treasured by his touch as his fingertips left the breast they’d been holding and moved lower. A warm breeze nuzzled her hair—no, not a breeze, but his breath, which, like her own, had quickened. “See,” she wanted to say to her disbelieving friends, to the father who’d protected her as long as he could by selecting her friends, subduing her will, and ignoring her when she’d voiced the need to stand on her own two feet. He meant well. He loved her. After her mother died he’d showered all his love on Carolina. But now that her illness had been conquered, that love was killing her. See, I knew I’d find something—it, him.
