Drifting, nearly dreaming again, she stroked a hand over him. Solid, she thought. He was solid and real and, for the moment, hers. Even with her eyes closed she could see him, every feature of his face, every line of his body. There had never been anyone she had felt belonged so completely to her before. Even her parents, for all their love, all their understanding, had belonged to each other initially. She would always think of them as a unit, first and last. And Sunny . . . Libby smiled a little as she thought of her sister. Even though she was younger by nearly two years, Sunny had always been independent and her own person—argumentative and daring in ways Libby could never try to emulate.

But Cal . . . It was true that he had only just appeared in her life, would disappear again all too quickly, but he was hers. His laughter, his temper, his passion . . . they all belonged to her now. She would keep them, treasure them, long after he was gone.

To love as she did, Libby mused, when every emotion, every word, every look, had to be squeezed into a matter of hours, was both precious and heartbreaking.

He thought he’d been dreaming, but the shape, the texture, the scent of a woman’s body were very, very real. Libby’s body. Her name was there, his first waking thought. She was pressed against him, a perfect fit even in sleep. The slow, gentle stroke of her hand aroused him in the most exquisite way.

He’d lost count of the times they had moved together during the night, but he knew dawn had been breaking the last time she’d cried out his name. The light had been dim and pearly. He would never forget it. She was like a fantasy, all soft curves, agile limbs and tireless passions. Somewhere along the line he had stopped being the teacher and had been taught.

There was more to loving than the uncountable physical pleasures a man and a woman could offer each other. There was trust and patience, generosity and joy. There was the drugging contentment of falling asleep knowing your partner would be there when you awoke.

Partner. The word floated through his mind. His match. Was it fate or fancy that he had had to travel through time to meet his match?

He didn’t want to think of it. Refused to. All he wanted now was to make love with Libby in the sunlight.

He shifted, and before either of them was fully awake, slipped into her. Her soft moan mingled with his own as their lips met. Acceptance. Affection. Arousal. Slowly, drawing out the lazy delight, they moved together, their hands beginning a quiet exploration, the kiss deepening.

“I love you.”

He heard her words, a caressing whisper in his mind, and answered them like an echo as his lips began to trace her face.