Atticus pressed his lips together, steeled himself, and then ushered in the inevitable end. “I found him.”

Marga froze in the process of pulling on a new sweater. They’d come back to Benjamin’s apartment once more, where he’d peeled her out of her soaked clothes, and, ignoring her protests of I-can-do-that-myself-you-domineering-male, had towel-dried every inch of her until her skin glowed rosy with warmth. Of course, he’d also insisted on kissing any spot looking like it might still be cold—just to be sure—with the result of leaving bright red hickeys in strategic places—and a nice blush of arousal on Marga’s face.

Now she swallowed several times before speaking, sky-blue eyes...