She wrapped her arms round his neck and pulled his head to hers. She paused, her mouth a breath away from his, wanting to drag every least drop of pleasure from the delicious moment. She’d always been the same, thoughtful, patient, careful. She savored food. She savored flowers. Good things were never to be rushed in her opinion, and Jack was definitely a good thing.

But Jack approached things differently, and he crushed his mouth to hers, making the decision for them. She moaned, kissing him back, her mouth as urgent as his. They’d been patient, held back, kept their needs in check but now desire was like a wild beast released and it clawed at them, ripping through restraint and control.

His hands were impatient as they sought skin concealed by clothing, and then she felt the roughness of his palms against bare flesh and gasped as he stroked and explored. And she explored, too, her fingers lingering on the swell and flex of muscle, savoring their differences. Usually she was controlled and careful, but now she felt reckless.

He loved her, he loved her.

She tugged at his shirt, then moved lower, fumbling with buttons—who invented buttons?—and then, yes, a rush of delicious anticipation as she felt him hard and heavy against her fingers. He yanked her dress, hauling it up, lifting her. Mouths locked they kissed, barely coming up for air as they fed on the desire that roared through them. She was deaf to everything except the sounds they made together, the rasp of breathing, the rustle of clothing. And then she felt the smooth, silken length of him against her. Everything was edged in desperation. She wanted to give, but she also wanted to take something for herself. He surged into her and she felt her body yield, slick and ready for him, welcoming the thickness and heat and drawing him in. With every skilled thrust the pleasure grew, building in intensity until she was consumed by sensation. Dizzy with it, she held on and rode out the storm, matching his demands with her own.

In that moment her whole world was him, and his was her. There was nothing but the passion. And finally the throbbing of her body eased, her head cleared a little, allowing the outside world in. She heard the distant sound of a woodpecker. The rustle of leaves. The harshness of his breathing, rapid and unsteady.

He lowered her to the ground. “Flora—”

She covered his lips with her fingers, not wanting him to talk. She didn’t want anything to end this perfect moment. Real life would eventually intrude as it always did and she couldn’t stop that, but she would keep it at a distance for as long as possible.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, flesh against heated flesh, prolonging the moment as long as possible, and then she felt his hand on her head, cradling her, possessive and protective.