He could hear his own heart beating, could feel the blood pumping to and from it. In the shadowy light she looked mysterious, impossibly erotic in a baggy sweater and worn corduroy. Her hair was mussed, from the drive and from her own restless fingers. He could imagine, all too clearly, what it would be like to smooth it himself. How it would be to slip off all those layers of oversize clothing and find her slim and warm underneath. He took a long, careful breath and tried to think clearly.

“Libby . . .” He ran a hand over his roughened chin. “I’m trying to think like a man you’d understand, one from your time. I don’t seem to be doing a good job of it.”

“I’d rather you’d think like yourself.” She wanted to be calm and confident. This was a decision she’d waited years to make. She was sure. But still there were nerves, brought on by excitement, anticipation and deep-rooted doubts about her own capabilities as a woman. “Time doesn’t change everything, Caleb.”

“No.” He was certain men had felt this stirring since the first dawn. But when he looked at her he was afraid that what he was feeling was far more complicated than basic attraction. His throat was dry, his palms were damp. The harder he tried to think rationally, the less clear his thoughts became. “Maybe we should talk about it.”

She resisted the urge to stare at her feet and kept her eyes on his. “Don’t you want me?”

“I’ve imagined making love with you a dozen times.”

She felt the thrill, and the fear, tangle in a race up her spine. “When you imagined, where were we?”

“Here. Or in the forest. Or thousands of miles away in space. There’s a pond near my house, with water as clear as glass and a bank of flowers my father planted. I’ve seen you there with me.”

It hurt, more than a little, knowing he would go back to that pond, to a place where she couldn’t follow. But they had now. The present was all that mattered, all she would let matter. She crossed to him, knowing that they both needed for her to take the first step.

“Here’s a good start.” She lifted a hand to his cheek. “Kiss me again, Caleb.”

How could he resist her? He was certain no man could. Her eyes were huge and dark, her lips were parted. Waiting. Slowly he lowered his, just brushing, testing. Her soft, yielding sigh seemed to fill him. Need did, a wild, urgent need. Shaken by the scope of it, he put his hands on her shoulders to draw her away.

“Libby—”

“Don’t make me seduce you,” she murmured. “I don’t know how.”

With a strangled laugh, he pulled her hard against him, burying his face in her hair. “Too late. You already have.”