"Oh, how she hated him," she thought as she lay in her bed, listening to him preparing her meal in the kitchen.
The more she thought about it, the more she was sure she should have hated him even back then: in the suite high above the streets of Rome in the warm summer, in the sun kissed marble theater in Greece and even during Christmas in the cozy 16th century cabin right by the coast of England. Yes, she should have hated him even then.
But he had touched her and not just her skin. He had found his way in to her very core. And then, when she was vulnerable, with his naked chest against hers, with lips moist of passion, he had kissed her senseless. With kind words, radiating smiles and promises of a future together, he had