He needed nothing else. In the blink of an eye he was above her, pushing inside her, closing his eyes in ecstasy as the warm tightness of her sheath closed around him.

This time there was nothing but surging carnal bliss. The sound of her breath hastening, his hands on the soft flesh of her hips. Her legs wrapping around his back, bringing him yet closer. His heart pounding against his chest, the roar of desire thrumming in his ears. Her hands clutching the bedclothes. Finally, the heaven of her muscles contracting around him, bringing him over that last, glorious edge.

He didn’t know how long it took to return to his senses. Less time than it took Alva, he was pleased to discover: her eyes were almost shut, her mouth curved lazily and contentedly. It occurred to him that he was probably crushing her, so he rolled off to the side.

She was gorgeous after a tumble. Well, she was always gorgeous, but it turned out there was nothing more beautiful than Alva Webster right after he’d had her. A smug kind of joy welled up in his chest, like there was sunshine beaming directly out from his heart.

He was in love.

It wasn’t a shocking statement; he didn’t recoil in surprise. It was the answer to a question he hadn’t been quite aware he was asking, and now that it was here, it was like it had always been true: a quiet, permanent underlying fact that made everything else in his life make sense. He saw it and acknowledged it, even with the whisper that told him being in love with a woman like Alva was going to complicate things. There was nothing to be done—he was in love with her, he always would be, and that was that. She was his person. If she was complicated, then he loved her complications, too.

She was the other side of his story.

Her eyes fluttered fully open, and she gazed at him with distinct satisfaction. He smiled, certain that the sunshine in his chest was going to split him open.

“You should be careful,” he said, leaning closer.

She smiled hazily. “What should I be careful of?”

“Lying there naked with an expression like that on your face.”

“And what sort of expression do I have on my face, oh learned one?”

He chuckled. “See, I was going to be polite and say it was a smug one. But now you’ve mocked me, and so I’ll retaliate by saying it’s the expression of a woman who’s been well bedded, and who wouldn’t be against giving it another go.”

“And if I say that’s exactly what my expression is intended to convey?”