Wanting, willing, she wrapped around him, thrilled by the rush of her own pulse, the flood of her own needs. Needs she’d locked away for so long spun free—and there was such joy in them.

She laughed, only a hint of nerves, when he turned her again, walked her backward toward the bed with his mouth still hungry on hers.

Then she was tumbling back, and he with her. And oh, what a sensation, the weight and shape of his body pressed to hers, to feel her own yielding to it. His hands, so strong and sure, molding her like clay until her blood ran hot under her skin.

She wanted to touch him, feared she’d fumble something as she fought to pull off his shirt. She wanted her hands on flesh, on muscle.

“I need to tell you—”

His teeth scraped lightly down her throat; her fingers dug into his shoulder blades.

“In case I do something wrong . . .”

“Nothing could be wrong.”

He flipped open the buttons of her shirt, his lips following his fingers.

“It’s just— I might. Oh, God, this feels amazing. I’ve never done this before so I might make a mistake.”

She realized she’d just made one when everything stilled. She closed her eyes, asked herself why, why, couldn’t she have just let it go, just said nothing until it was done.

“Not done what before, exactly?”

She opened her eyes, found his, so dark, so intense, on hers. “Sex. I shouldn’t have said anything. Why does it have to matter?”

He shifted, sitting up, drawing her with him. And she felt all the joy and delight leak away into mortification.

“Of course you should have told me, and of course it matters.”

“You either want me or you don’t.” She dug for anger, for anything that would cover the humiliation of tears that wanted to spill.

“That’s not the issue. It matters,” he repeated, taking her arms when she tried to turn away. “In approach, in tone. The first shouldn’t be rushed and greedy, and I was feeling both.”

“Since I was feeling the same, why can’t we just—”

“Because you don’t know. But you will.” He lifted her hand, turned it over to lay a kiss lightly in her palm. “If you’re sure. It’s a gift that can’t be taken back.”

“I’m sure. I want to feel what you make me feel. I want to be with you. Now.”

“Then trust me.”

“I couldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“We want moonlight and stars.” As he spoke the room went dusky blue. Lights—candles? stars?—glimmered through it. “The song of the sea, the scent of flowers.”

She heard the waves, like a whisper as he laid her back on what had become a bower.

“You’re so much more than you’ve shown us.”

Illusions, he thought, but the moment called for them. And for romance, and tenderness. He found he had them for her, and could call on them as easily as he could whistle up the wind.