Their hot tub shenanigans seemed like a million years ago.

She frowned slightly, wondering if she could explain how she felt in a way that made sense and wouldn’t scare him away. “It’s not that I’m trying to rush everything. I just feel that until I have consensual, full-penetrative sex, I’m always going to be waiting for it. It will always be the unknown factor that I am focused on. Can it be good? Can it be pleasurable? Will it hurt?” She looked up and caught the pain shadowing his eyes.

“After everything that happened last summer and now to Martin and Adele.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and held his gaze. “I want to go for it and find out what all the fuss is about.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “It can be fun. It should be pleasurable. But trauma shouldn’t be dismissed. There is no rush, Darby. We have all the time in the world.”

Some of the fears that she’d buried bubbled to the surface. “What if I die, or you die, and I never get to experience the beauty of making love—and only have ugliness in that part of my life? Is it the height of selfishness to be worried about something so basic when people are dying?”

His hands gently grasped her shoulders. “Firstly, nothing bad is going to happen to either of us.”

“You can’t guarantee that.” They looked at one another in the light of the fireplace and she knew she’d ruined the moment with her frank talk. She went to turn away, but he stopped her.

Without another word he picked her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

She sighed. This was the romance she’d dreamed of.

“Secondly, we can take it as fast or as slow as you want. If you change your mind at any time, it’s fine. We’re in this for the long haul now, you and me. We can go around in circles for as long as it takes.”

The long haul…that sounded divine.

He kissed her and she slipped her arms around his neck and, as she slid to her feet, she twisted so they were facing one another. He didn’t let up on the kiss. He tipped her head back and nibbled at her lips. Tasting her a little bit. Her tongue met his and tangled, dueling. She grabbed his sweater and pulled him closer until they were pressed together like twin halves of a seashell.

Her fingers skimmed lower, burrowing beneath layers of fleece and wool until she found smooth warm skin. He dragged his clothes off in one go and was standing there naked from the waist up.

She smiled. He was so hot. Those deep, dark eyes, those lovely strong arms. She skimmed a hand along his collarbone and then down the smattering of dark hair on his chest. She could feel him watching her. The weight of his regard was unnerving—desire, definitely, but also concern. Too much concern.