Roland returned a few minutes later, his shirt gone again (he had handed it off to be washed). He didn't say anything, just closed the door behind him, strode across the room, and kissed her. It was easier than trying to find words, and probably got how he felt across better. She wanted him. He wanted her. He was done with talking about it, and done with trying to justify things to himself or to her.

His kiss wasn't unlike the kiss of the day before, in intensity and depth. The biggest difference was that, where yesterday's had been brief and frustrated, this was slower, more demanding. One hand cupped the back of her neck, the other running up her side to her breast.

"We have a good half-hour before anyone comes up here," he said, pulling away a little. "Likely more, with all else that's happening. Let's see about sparing your wrist."