So she let a drop slide down each cheek unencumbered as she studied Gabriel, the straight line of his jaw, the whiskers that had snuck up onto his chin in the last few hours. She couldn’t resist touching him, running her fingers over and down his cheekbones and his lips, before cupping his cheeks the way he had with her.

Gabriel kissed her, and Sara opened up for him, let him have everything she had to offer, let him taste her, let him feel and know that she was his.

His hands slipped lower, caressing her back as he tasted her, as their tongues tangled and she felt a hope, a happiness she had never expected to know. Because not only had she never loved any man like she did Gabriel, she had never been loved this way. Had never felt such adoration, such devotion, such true and pure love as she did from him, and the fact that he had lived for so many years only made it all that much sexier. It was like he had been waiting for her and she for him.

And just when she thought he intended to do nothing but kiss her indefinitely, he took the bottom of her T-shirt, pulled it up and over her head, and tossed it on the floor. Sara shivered from the sudden movement of air over her bare skin and from the immediate tickle of his fingertips over her shoulders and down to her elbows as he stroked her. He did that everywhere, just touching lightly, all over her arms, her stomach, her cleavage, acquainting himself with her feel, and Sara swallowed hard, pleased by his interest, his intensity, but tortured by it. Her body was tight and tense, impatient, wanting more, wanting to take him inside her. She gripped the hem of his shirt for balance and let her head fall back as Gabriel slid her bra straps over her shoulders, kissing her along the path he bared.

“You feel so good. You smell so good. Like cinnamon.” He licked her flesh, the tip of his tongue tripping off goose bumps on her shoulder.

“Body oil,” she said, though he probably didn’t need or want an answer. His tongue slid down, down, until he was tracing the swell of her breast above her bra.

“I’ve wanted to touch you since the moment I met you,” he said, his hair tickling her arm as he peeled down the front of her bra.

“What a coincidence. I’ve been wanting you to touch me since the moment I met you.” Sara sucked in her breath when his finger brushed her taut nipple. She was so tight, so eager, so ready for him.

He glanced up at her, his expression serious. “But you came back knowing I couldn’t.”

She nodded. “Yes, I did.” And she would have stayed even if the outcome had been different.

His head dipped in acknowledgment. “Thank you.”