“I can open for you.”
“Open for me.” Over his head, out of his mind, he pulled her back to him. “Take me in.”
It was a gift, a truth. She looked into his eyes as she opened. Looked into his eyes as she took him in. And then the meaning of the moment, of the gift, was so radiant, she let her eyes close as the light pulsed against her lids.
It ripped through him, that stunning, sumptuous sensation of sliding into her. Of feeling her close around him, tight, for a moment, tight like a fist.
She trembled against him, and still they floated, lovers cradled in the sea.
He moved in her, slowly, slowly, aware of the wonder of her belonging to him—absolutely—the magic of that beat of time. A time not to be rushed. Buoyed by her, he brushed kisses over her cheeks, her eyelids, her lips, all the while stroking, stroking, matching his rhythm to the easy dance of the sea that held them.
Love swept through him, a warm breeze scented with her.
Trapped in her own bliss, she rose up again, circled with him. And down, taking him under, her mouth fixed on his to give him her breath with the kiss.
Covered by the dark sea, he moved in her, felt her peak, drew her breath into him to give her more. And knew, when love all but shattered him, if he could find the miracle he would have stayed with her, would have made her world his own.
Then she took him up, into the air, into the light of moon and stars, into the sounds of water rolling to shore and back. And there, caught between worlds, she once more tightened around him. Said his name against his lips.
And there, did shatter him.
She held him close, her head on his shoulder, the marvelous symmetry of her body pressed to his.
“You’re not disappointed?” she murmured.
“Annika, I’m . . . I don’t have the words, but I’m everything that’s the opposite of disappointed.”
“There is more to do with legs.”
“Annika.” Once again undone, he brushed his lips over her hair. “You’re a fantasy come true. More beautiful, more miraculous than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“You’re the same to me. The same.”
Rolling onto her back, she smiled up at him all the way to shore.
When she stood with him in the shallows, she laid a hand on her heart. “You brought a blanket, and candles and wine, even flowers. It’s so pretty.”
“You’ll make it prettier.” Now he tugged her to the beach. “Are you cold?”
“No, are you?”
“I feel pretty close to perfect.” After fishing a lighter out of the duffle, he lit the little candles, and used his multitool to open the wine.
“We have time?”
“We’ve got some time left.” He pulled her down to the blanket, poured the wine. “You-and-me time.”
“I like you-and-me time, very much. But I have to use it to tell you something. I didn’t give you the truth.”
“About what?”
She dropped her gaze. “You believe I saw you, as you saw me, for the first time on the beach in Corfu. But it’s not the truth.”
“No? What is?”
“When I was training for the quest, the sea witch took me to another island, and I saw you there, on the beach, under the moon like we are now. You were alone, but you didn’t look lonely.”
Intrigued, he tipped her face back so their eyes met. “What island?”