Page 41

DIN

" T hat was so good." Shira wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Thank you for cooking the steaks."

"You are welcome." Din rose to his feet and started collecting the plates.

"Stop," Shira commanded. "I'll clean up. You two need to rest a little before going to the bar." She gave him a very obvious wink that made Fenella roll her eyes.

"Much appreciated," he said, offering Fenella a hand. "Shall we?"

"Yes, we shall." She let him pull her up. "I'm stuffed."

"Nonsense, love. You ate just one steak."

She gave him a mock glare. "Are you kidding me? Each of those steaks could feed a family of four. Where does Thomas even get them?"

"I don't know, but they are very good." He put his hand on the small of her back and led her to the bedroom.

"How much time do we have?" Fenella asked, closing the bedroom door behind them and leaning against it for a moment, watching him.

Din glanced at his watch. "Plenty. Nearly three hours." He plopped down on one of the armchairs facing the sliding door and the garden beyond, his long legs stretching out in front of him. It was getting dark, but there was still some time before the shutters went down.

It was peaceful, and after enduring Shira's exuberant chatter for over an hour, he appreciated the quiet.

Din was sociable when required, but it was tiring to him.

He preferred silence and solitude—except when it came to Fenella.

He never got tired of hearing her talk or watching her do the most mundane things.

He just loved everything about her.

"Since there is still plenty of time before my shift…" Fenella sauntered over to him and sat on his lap. "Let's make it count." Her hands were already sliding up his chest.

"I like the way you think." He wrapped his arms around her, one hand splaying across her lower back to hold her secure.

When she tilted her face up to his, he captured her lips in a kiss that was gentle at first, a greeting, a promise. But then Fenella made that soft sound in her throat that drove him wild, and pressed her soft breasts to his chest, and all thoughts of taking it slow flew out the window.

His hands tightened on her, and when she whispered his name in that particular tone that never failed to undo him, his control snapped.

He rose to his feet with her in his arms and with purposeful strides crossed the short distance separating the sitting area from the bed, laid her down with surprising gentleness, and then followed, careful to keep his weight on his elbows.

He paused, just looking into her eyes and marveling at what he found there—the lust, yes, but more importantly, the complete trust. Finally, she was letting him love her without walls or barriers.

He loved her, and she loved him back, but was still too afraid to say the words.

"You are thinking too much." She lifted a hand to his cheek. "I can practically see your professor brain cataloging and analyzing."

"Occupational hazard." He traced his lips over the line of her jaw. "That's what I'm paid to do."

"Thinking is overrated." She arched beneath him. "Let your body rule you for a change and give your brain a break."

"I need an incentive," he teased.

She pushed on his chest until he was on his knees between her legs, then removed her shirt in one fluid move. "Is that what you had in mind?"

Din just stared at the perfection of her, his vocabulary momentarily deserting him. "Take off your bra," he commanded, his Scottish accent thickening.

"Yes, sir." She reached behind her back, released the hook, and then slid the straps down her arms with excruciating slowness.

Din felt his fangs beginning to elongate. "Just a reminder, we are a little short on time."

"You wanted an incentive." She pulled the bra cups off and tossed the undergarment aside. "I'm simply providing what you requested."

He licked his lips. "Yes, you are." He lowered his mouth to her right nipple and gave it a gentle kiss before turning to the other one and greeting it similarly.

"Just a reminder, Professor. We are short on time," she threw his words back at him, but her voice came out breathy with need.

He chuckled against her nipple and then took it between his lips and sucked.

Fenella moaned, her arms coming up and her fingers threading into his hair, holding him close.

He feasted on her for a moment longer, alternating between gentle and firm, reading her responses and adjusting accordingly, but was keenly aware that they didn't have a lot of time for extended foreplay.

Letting go, he leaned back and removed his shirt. The rest of his and her clothing followed in a tangle of fumbling hands and breathless laughter, and when they were finally skin to skin, Fenella's mouth found that spot on his throat just under his jawline that always made him groan.

He was inside her within a heartbeat, and as she held him tightly to her, he got lost in her touch, in the slide of skin against skin, in the catching of her breath, in the incoherent endearments she murmured against his shoulder.

It was a familiar dance by now, passionate in the intense way of new lovers, but saturated in the deeper connection of two souls recognizing each other across time and space.

"I love you," he said, the words coming unbidden but never unwelcome.

He'd say them a thousand times if that's what it took for her to believe them, to accept them, to return them.

Fenella's eyes flew open, meeting his, and for a moment, he thought she might finally say them back. He saw the words forming, saw her lips part, saw the internal struggle play out in her eyes.

Instead, she pulled his head down and kissed him with a fierce tenderness that said everything she couldn't yet manage to say.

It was enough. For now.

Some walls took time to crumble. He'd already waited fifty years, and he could wait a little longer for those words, when every touch, every look, every soft sigh already told him the truth she couldn't yet verbalize.