“Look, you were the last thing I expected this summer. Our relationship knocked me off my feet, and I’m reeling, too.” He lifted the nearly full glass from her fingers. “I don’t mean to rush you. We’ll have plenty of time to talk.” He set the glass on the floor by her side.

His jacket slid from his shoulders with a rustle of fine linen.

He folded it with precision and placed it at one end of the blanket. With a single tug, he loosened his tie. “Anyway, I’m tired of talking.” He caught her gaze. “How about you?”

More than happy to postpone answering, she lifted her chin. “Talk is overrated.”

Sweeping her into his arms, he laid her back, her head on the cushion of his coat. In an instant, he was beside her and above her, one arm beneath her neck, the other hand tucked under her hip. He drove his fingertips into the muscles of her lower back and massaged in deep circles. “I want you in my life.”

The touch bordered on too firm, but it felt good, too. Tension seeped from her muscles. “I thought you were done talking.”

“I changed my mind.”

With a gentle nibble, he tickled behind one ear. His stubbly chin chafed tender skin and drew gooseflesh down her arms. She let her eyelids fall.

He tugged at her earlobe and made a sound low in his throat. “Just say yes.” He traced his lips down the valley of her neck to her collarbone.

She shivered. The role of Mrs. Dr. Bruce was hers for the taking. She had only to step onto the stage. Slipping her arms over his shoulders, she urged him closer.

“I love you,” he whispered and claimed her with his kiss.

The strength of his passion took away her breath. Trapped under his chest, she winced as the knobs of her spine rolled over the plank floor. She jerked her head to one side and arched onto her shoulders.

His grasp on her hip eased. “Please, let me make you mine.”

His breath tickled like a downy feather inside her ear, and she broke out in goose bumps on top of goose bumps. Richard Bruce was the man she waited for. He wasn’t some unattainable fantasy. He was real and solid, and he wanted her. Why not say yes?

He lifted away.

Missing his kiss, she reached with pouted lips. “Richard…?” Her voice was deep and throaty. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her. His face was in shadow, but she made out the lines of his features—the strong curve of his cheekbones, dark hair curling over a high forehead, kissable lips arcing into a smile of…what? Of triumph? As if in response to her plea, he lowered himself fully, deepening the kiss.

Above her, wide boards crisscrossed heavy beams. She could just discern a network of spiderwebs disappearing into dusky corners.