And his hair was free, no ponytail, no braid, the long thickness of it waved and curled down his back, over his shoulders and next to his face. I felt my lungs start burning. Holy freaking moly… my husband was hot!

I already had a feeling I was screwed, seeing I was in sacrificial virgin attire and in a corral. But now I was thinking I was way screwed. My attention focused back on her when she went on to say in a dire tone, “The Wife Hunt.

Take me home, take me home, take me home, I need to go home. Please, please, whatever magic is out there for me, let it be at my command to take me home.

My eyes flew open and when they did, his dark ones, not looking detached, not blank, not impassive, but heated and turned on and God, could it be? Totally freaking sexy.

Then I whispered, “I love you, my Lahn,” and heard the swift hiss of his intake of breath. Then he buried his face in my neck and whispered back, “Loot kay hansahnalay na, my Circe.” And I love you, my Circe.