“But once I’ve released that first burst of …steam…”—he sucked in his breath, his words coming fast and choppy—“I’ll have all the time in the world”—her head thrashed as his wily fingers teased her in the most intimate way—“to do the job right.” He nudged her thighs wider. “And you, Tinker Bell…” She took his weight. “You’ll have a night you’ll never forget.”

He entered her with a groan, and even though she was slick and oh-so-ready, it wasn’t an easy fit. She drew up her knees and arched her back. He closed his mouth over hers, took her hips in his palms, and tilted her to the angle they both wanted.

Feverish, demented images shimmered behind her eyelids. The long, thick body of a python pushing into her, uncoiling…stretching …going deeper…deeper still. His back grew rigid beneath her palms. The sweet attack …The plunge. Again and again. And then the final climb. He began to shudder. She swallowed his low, guttural moan. Light shimmered behind her eyes. She took his weight, threw back her head, and gave herself up.

Long minutes passed. He brushed his lips against her temple, then rolled to his side, barely staying on the narrow mattress. She slid over to give him room. They readjusted. He drew her against his damp skin and began playing with her hair. She was dazed, surfeited, determined not to think. Not yet.

“It…it didn’t happen for me,” she said.

He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed into her lying eyes. “I hate to say this, but I told you so.”

“You were right, as usual.”

Crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes, and he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Let this be a lesson.” He pulled himself up. “I’m going to need a few minutes.”

“I’ll do some word scrambles in my head.”

“Good idea.” As she listened to the night sounds that surrounded their nest in the woods, he disappeared inside. He returned a few minutes later with a beer, sat on the side of the mattress, and held the bottle out for her. She took a swig and gave it back. He set the bottle on the floor, then lay down and pulled her to his shoulder, where he began playing with a lock of her hair again. The tender intimacy made her want to cry, so she rolled on top of him and began her own sensuous exploration.

Before long, his breath quickened. “I guess…” he said in a strangled voice, “it’s not going to take me quite as long to recover as I thought.”

She brushed her lips over his abdomen. “I suppose you can’t be right about everything.”

And that was the last thing either of them said for a very long time.

Finally, he fell asleep, and she could slip away to her bedroom. As she curled into her pillow, she could no longer repress the reality of what she’d done. He’d attacked lovemaking with the same workaholic zeal he did everything else, and, in the process, she’d fallen a little more in love with him.