Claire didn’t object as he carried her upstairs. She studied the lines of his profile, the dark fringe of lashes, his square jaw, committing it all to memory. Pulling back the covers on his bed, he placed her in the middle and slid next to her, tucking her against his side.

For a long time no words passed between them. She smiled dreamily and traced circles on his hard belly, afraid to break the spell. Closing her eyes, she let herself pretend this was permanent, forever, that this was home.

Suddenly, he moved from her side to flip on the light. Then he was back, looming over her, staring at her so intently she felt her smile slip.

“What?” She fidgeted nervously, feeling exposed and vulnerable beneath the light.

“Your eyes.”

Frowning, she pulled the covers up to her neck. “I know. Boring brown.”

“No,” he said slowly, studying her eyes closely. “They have tiny flecks of gold around the center.” He pointed as if counting each tiny speck. “Amber,” he pronounced. “You have amber eyes.”

No one had called her eyes amber before. No one had ever even bothered to look. She felt herself smile. Grabbing his face in her hands, she kissed him soundly.

When she released him, he tugged her closer, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth as he shoved the covers aside. Cupping her bottom in both hands, he positioned himself between her thighs. She felt him hard and ready, nudging at her entrance.

“Gideon,” she gasped when he ground himself against her. “Again?”

Instead of answering, he lowered his head and took her nipple into his mouth. She arched, moaning as he tormented her with his tongue and teeth.

“Gideon,” she begged, grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

His hands slid along her thighs, guiding her legs around his waist, opening her wider. Slowly, he sank inside her. Her head flew off the bed with a gasp. He rested his forehead against hers, the searing intensity of his gaze penetrating her as thoroughly as his body did. Her heart swelled.

This would be enough. This memory, this time with him would be enough. It had to be.

She savored his body over hers, in hers, as he made love to her. Her hands and mouth caressed him, loving him, worshipping every line and hollow of him until they were both spent, exhausted. He flipped the light off before settling back into bed. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he spooned her.

Her eyes drifted shut and for several moments she allowed her breathing to match his, the fall and rise of her chest mimicking his. Never in her life had she felt this close, this intimate, with another soul.

“I love you, Claire.” The words were a whisper against her hair, barely audible, but she heard them, a painful echo of her heart’s sentiments.