“My darling!” he said, in a voice that was strange and very unsteady. “I thought I should never find you!”
Then, before she could speak, he was kissing her again, kissing her fiercely, demandingly, possessively, as if his fear of losing her made him want to make her his forever.
Only when time had stood still and a century might have passed in the King’s arms did Zita give an inarticulate little murmur and hide her face against his neck.
Her heart was pounding and she felt as if every nerve of her body was throbbing with a rapture that was indescribable.
She was alive, more pulsatingly alive than she had ever been in her whole life and she could only think that this was love, as she had never expected it to be.
“My precious!” the King said. “How could you go away in that damnable way?
