A fisherman he had been in his youth,

And still a sort of fisherman was he;

But other speculations were, in sooth,

Added to his connexion with the sea,

Her voice was gorgeous around the words. Her hand stroked his head while he held still, amazed at what he could feel. Astonished at what he could be. Until now, he’d always felt inept and clumsy and shy with girlfriends. Analyzing every single move and word before execution. Now, with Astrid, he just talked. He just touched. With Astrid, he just was.

She closed the book and jettisoned a few pillows, coming face to face with him. And he found kissing upside-down a wonderful thing.

“I should tell you my second secret,” she said.

“Never tell a secret out of obliga—”

“I’m not a virgin.”

Which, like the secret book of poetry, was the last thing he expected.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

He blinked, confused. “How did you think I would respond?”

“I wasn’t sure.” She smiled. “This is, after all, the land of puritanical protestant prudes. Major said so.”

“What if I were appalled and outraged?”

She shrugged. “I’d think you were a judgmental prig not worthy of any more of my time or secrets.”

“Good for you.”

“Do you want to know who he was?”

“I only want to know you. Did you love him?”

“I liked him enough to sleep with him. But I soon found out he didn’t feel the same.”

“When?”

“After I slept with him.”

“How dare you want what he wanted.”

Her eyes lifted toward her forehead. “South American men…”

“He was the reason your parents sent you away to Rio?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re not a virgin.” He slid his hand around the back of her head and drew it close. Whispered into her mouth: “Neither am I.”

“You’re a man. Nobody expects you to be inexperienced and untouched.”

He started to speak, then stopped. “That is,” he said slowly, “the sad, unjust, silly and stupid truth.”

“Thank you for that.” She smiled a slow, wicked smile. “Din slampa.”

You hussy.

He laughed and whacked her with a pillow.

“Slyna,” she said, whacking him back.

“I’m a fallen man.”

“You’re a pirate.” She tossed her pillow away and wrapped arms around his neck. “And I love you awful.”

His own pillow fell away and he gathered her close. “I love you,” he said, pressing a ring of kisses around her mouth. “You’re my treasure.” His kiss sank deep and she opened to him, a high keen of pleasure in her throat, her fingers in his hair. “You are every bit of gold and silver I ever wanted.”

“Nyck.”