Chapter 39 #2
Then finally, blessedly, he covered her lips with his.
Peter’s kisses were slow and soft, trailing across her lips and covering her cheeks, undoing the last of Ana’s resolve to keep her emotions at bay.
Tears of relief trailed down her cheeks, wetting Peter’s face as well.
He paused momentarily, concern lining his face as he wiped away her tears.
But Ana pulled his hands away and returned his kisses with a new kind of fervor.
She moved her lips over his, tangling her hands in his hair.
Peter laughed against her lips, clearly pleased with her response, as his hands slid back to that sensitive spot behind her ear and up into her curls.
She could spend forever in his embrace, particularly when she was being kissed as intently as she was. This was safety.
This was love.
Peter broke away, gasping, but did not move his hands from her.
“I will not deny that I have run from difficulties in the past. It was, in all honesty, what drove me to enlist in the army at the beginning. But Ana, you are not a difficulty. You are the only part of my life that is not a difficulty. I would never run from you.”
Ana wrapped her arms around his neck, as if she could pull him closer to her. “I no want you to be distant again, not like these past weeks. I cannot bear it. No puedo.”
Peter leaned in, bringing Ana’s forehead to his. “I have been frightened of hurting you, or of pressuring you. You have endured something so immense as bringing a child to this world, and I did not want to further burden you.”
“I missed you—your touch, your wisdom and words. Even your silence. I missed todo.” Ana brushed a hand down his shoulder and chest, trying to memorize the feeling of his closeness.
“But I also missed me, mi vida normal. I lost myself in those days, Peter. Particularmente when I think about my parents.”
Peter kissed her forehead, her temple. “It pains me to learn of all the difficulties you saw, and while you were still so young. I only wanted to protect you from further pain.”
“And you do, more than anyone else. You are my protector, my rescuer. But I need this.” She waved a hand between them, indicating the closeness, the openness, the honesty that was difficult to explain.
“As do I. And I promise that we will never lose it again.”
“Te lo prometo también.” Ana nestled back into Peter’s chest and breathed deeply, as if she could absorb the warmth and security that the feeling brought her.
He had sacrificed so much for her. He had changed his way of living entirely, particularly now, as he had sold his commission.
And while Ana had given him a daughter, a family, she had never truly revealed the most precious gift she could give to him.
Not fully, at least. Her pulse thrummed impossibly fast as she whispered into his chest. “Pedro?”
“Sí?”
She grinned, “Cómo te amo!” then threw back her head, laughing and avoiding his gaze. Nervousness was a fire inside her, driving her to make light of the moment in fear of acknowledging the truth of her feelings.
Peter shook his head, tutting. “Is that truly how you are going to confess your feelings to me? When I have waited to hear them for so long?”
Ana protested, hiccupping through her laughter. “Ay, amor, I said to you I love you in San Sebastián. And I believe you did too.”
“It is true,” Peter said with a chuckle.
“But I did not know I meant it then. And I did not have the depth of love for you that I feel now, after all we have endured together, after seeing you become the mother of my child.” His voice turned husky and serious.
“You are my home. You are my life. Ana María Ashmore, I love you. I love you more than the army, I love you more than my country, I love you more than life itself. I thank God every day that He brought me you.”
Ana felt impossibly happy, so intoxicating it was to hear the affirming words she had longed for.
She tried to kiss Peter again but could hardly close her lips over the wide smile that split her face.
Then she pulled away, breathing deeply to capture some sort of calm to stamp out her nervousness.
For so many months, she had dreamed of expressing her feelings for her husband without trepidation, and now it proved much more difficult than she thought to find the words sufficient to do so, particularly in English.
“Amor, you have put a siege on mi corazón, and I surrendered it to you long, long ago.
“A siege on your heart?” Peter quirked the corner of his mouth. “How entirely appropriate.”
“Sí,” she answered. “And I love you, con todo mi ser.”
Peter blinked, his brow scrunching as he worked to translate. “With all my being . . . or perhaps, with all that I am?”
Ana laughed. “How your Espanol is improving, my love!” Then she secured his face with her hands and pressed a long, lingering kiss against his forehead. A promise in the form of a beso. “Te amo para siempre, mi vida.”