Evening. The last wash of sunset spilled into the bedroom.

Francesca fell asleep, worn out.

The man had on slacks. His shirt hung loose on his body, only two buttons fastened. Even with one arm ruined and ugly, he was still devastatingly attractive.

Because they were trying for a baby, Julian hadn’t smoked. He watched the dying light, lowering his head now and then to stroke the woman’s black hair, savoring the intensity from moments ...