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They were supposed to be dead, and no one was supposed to know they were alive. But Amon had contacts, and they were in a dingy Hong Kong hotel room, waiting on the money and fake ID's that would allow them to travel everywhere and nowhere.

Amon pulled the ribbons from Robin's hair. She watched with silent eyes as he pulled her dress from her body, as he dropped his lips to her pale skin. Robin whimpered when his fingers brushed over her breasts, the nipples growing taut from his attentions. She gasped and clung to him when his fingers found her center, when they slipped inside and his mouth closed over hers. He was gentle, his touch as calming as the Latin prayers Robin had learned in the convent in Italy. He was her benediction, he was her salvation.

When she came in his arms, her soul was wiped clean and they were ready to start over again.