“Well, after all that you must be hungry.” She glanced around as if noticing the dark for the first time. “I hadn’t realized it was so late. Why don’t I go down and toss something together?”

“It can wait.” Taking her hand, he drew her to her feet. The machine continued to hum, forgotten by both of them. “We can go down later and both throw something together. I like the way you look in glasses.”

With a quick laugh, she reached for them. He caught her hand so that both of hers were trapped in his.

“No, don’t take them off.” He tilted his head to kiss her, as if experimenting. Her taste was the same. Thank God. Most of the tension dissolved. “They make you look . . . smart and serious.”

Though her heart was already thumping, she smiled. “I am smart and serious.”

“Yes, I suppose you are.” He ran his thumbs over the inside of her wrists and felt her pulse scramble. “The way you look right now makes me want to see just how unintellectual I can make you.” With their hands still joined, he bent to kiss her, holding himself back, teasing and nibbling her lips until her breath was a shudder.

“Libby?”

“Yes.”

“What can you tell me about the mudmen of New Guinea?”

“Nothing.” She strained against him, moaning a bit when his lips continued to brush, featherlight, over hers. “Nothing at all. Kiss me, Caleb.”

“I am.” His lips cruised over her face, skimming here, lingering there. She was like a volcano, awakened after eons of sleep, ready to burst free, hot and molten.

“Touch me.”

“I will.”

It was never what she expected. He had her teetering on the edge with only a stroke of his hands. Then, as she trembled back to earth, he began to undress her, peeling off her flannel shirt, tugging off her jeans, while they stood beside the bed. She wore a narrow white undershirt in plain cotton. It seemed to fascinate him as he toyed with the straps, skimmed his finger along the low scooped neck, before he slipped it up and over her head. His lips were never still, nor were his hands, which roamed to exploit all the secrets he’d already discovered.

Delighted, delirious, she yanked his sweater over his head. It amazed her that the need could have sharpened and grown, outracing what she had felt for him the first time. Now she knew where he would take her and had already traveled some of the routes he navigated so expertly.

His skin was soft, smooth. It pleased her to run her hands up and over his back to feel it and the hard muscle beneath. The contrast, the peculiarly masculine contrast, made her knees weak. She heard his breath quicken as she stroked her hands from shoulder to waist.