Free Two Weeks in Geneva: Book Three by Lydia Rowan Page B

never, ever meant to hurt you. Or him.”
    “I know now,” she said. “I think I knew all along.”
    “And as angry as I was, as much as I hate what my weakness has done, what I’ve allowed it to take from me, I love you more than anyone or anything, and I can’t make myself stop,” he said quietly, the evenness of his tone at odds with the earnestness in his eyes.
    He stood up from the couch and walked over to the balcony doors, staring out into the inky darkness of the night. Quinn followed and reached up hesitantly to touch his shoulder and then wrapped her arms around his waist. He flinched but didn’t pull away, so Quinn snuggled closer, trying to pour everything she felt into him.
    “Me either,” she said, voice muffled against the solid wall of his back.
    “What?” he said, his body still rigid.
    “I can’t make myself stop loving you either. Even after what I did—what we did to each other—I can’t stop.”
    She reached around him to grasp his other shoulder and turn him to face her, staring up into his eyes, imploring.
    “I love you, Alexander. With all my heart and soul, I love you.”
    Time seemed to stand still as his gaze searched hers, and for a moment she feared he would send her away. Instead, he pulled her into a tight embrace and whispered in her ear.
    “Je t’aime pour toujours. Je t’aime pour toujours. Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi. I love you forever. I cannot live without you.”
    He kissed her, deeply and possessively, his tongue and lips obliterating thoughts of anything except him. But a few moments later, he pulled back. He continued whispering the words like a mantra, a sacred prayer, as he peeled off her shirt and pants, then her bra and panties, hands caressing every inch of her skin as it was revealed. She stood before him fully exposed, both in body and in heart, and her gaze searched his, seeking some confirmation of what he felt. But he remained inscrutable, his eyes intense but unreadable, and her heart skipped a beat.
    It wouldn’t end here; they’d fought too hard. So Quinn breathed a deep breath, pushed all of the fear and doubt that floated on the edges of her consciousness aside, and waited, hoping he could see, feel , the love and trust she had for him. The moments stretched, stretched even further, but she waited, secure in the bond that she’d only just acknowledged but in which she believed with every fiber of her being.
    And then he smiled, his whole spirit seeming to lift with the expression. That smile remained as he lifted his sweater over his head, revealing the smooth, taut plane of his abdomen, the picture of masculine perfection, before he tossed the garment aside, the muscles in his chest and arms rippling with the effort. Her breath hitched, and her gaze followed his hands as he reached toward his belt. Throat dry and pussy wet, she watched, mesmerized as he removed the belt, the whisk of the leather as he pulled it through his belt loops sounding in the air and heightening her anticipation to a fever pitch. Then, finally , he pulled his pants, and his underwear with them, down around his lean hips.
    Her gaze was riveted to his cock, and she moaned at the sight of it, hard, glistening with the fluid that flowed freely from his slit. She moaned again at the gentle sway of his cock as he walked toward her. The moment was almost surreal. She’d dreamed of this, of being with him again, her body longing for him on an almost atomic level. And when he touched her, she ignited. He trailed his fingers down her neck, over her shoulder, down to rest on her breast.
    Directly over her heart.
    A rush of blood raced to her head, leaving her almost dizzy. But Alexander was there to hold her, his arm around her waist as solid as steel, as clear a message as any words that he’d be there to catch her.
    He’d always be there.
    He leaned in to kiss her, soft and gentle, a startling contrast to the heat and heavy emotion that pulsed between them. He led her into the