She raised her tear-streaked face and kissed him lightly on the lips.
The soft pressure of her lips on his made his arms ache to hold her tighter. But he fought the feeling down.
"Why do you cry so hard when I speak to you of love?" he whispered.
"Because no one has ever loved me as you do," she said. She rested her head against his chest, and he stroked her hair. His eyes lingered over the curves of her breasts. He wanted to drop his hand from her hair to her breast. He felt the yearning to touch her breast as a pain in the palm of his hand.
"But you have been married," he said. "Did not your husband love you?"
He felt her head shaking. His heart was beating so hard he was sure she must hear it.
"We were little more than children."
"I am not a child, and neither are you. Believe me when I say I want to marry you."
"Oh, Simon, I do believe you!" she cried, and she broke out in a fresh storm of sobs.
Now he could not help himself; he had to hold her tight. She leaned against him, and they slipped back until they were both lying down, he on his back and she on top of him. His hand felt the small of her back. How narrow her waist was!