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“Yours,” she replied, sounding surprised that he'd even asked.

He grunted his approval and moved swiftly into his—no, their—room, kicking the door shut behind him. “I love you,” he said as they tumbled onto the bed. Now that he'd said the words once, they were bursting within him, demanding a voice. He needed to tell her, make sure she knew, make sure she understood what she meant to him.

And if it took a thousand sayings, he didn't care.

“I love you,” he said again, his fingers frantically working on the fastenings of her dress.

“I know,” she said tremulously. She cupped his face in her hands and caught his eyes with hers. “I love you, too.”

Then she pulled his mouth down to hers, kissing him with a sweet innocence that set him afire.

“If I ever, ever hurt you again,” he said fervently, his mouth moving to the corner of hers, “I want you to kill me.”

“Never,” she answered, smiling.

His lips moved to the sensitive spot where her jaw met her earlobe. “Then maim me,” he murmured. “Twist my arm, sprain my ankle.”

“Don't be silly,” she said, touching his chin and turning his face back to hers. “You won't hurt me.”

Love for this woman filled him. It flooded his chest, made his fingers tingle, and stole his very breath. “Sometimes,” he whispered, “I love you so much it scares me. If I could give you the world, you know I would do it, don't you?”

“All I want is you,” she whispered. “I don't need the world, just your love. And maybe,” she added with a wry smile, “for you to take off your boots.”

Simon felt his face erupt into a grin. Somehow his wife always seemed to know exactly what he needed. Just when his emotions were choking him, bringing him dangerously close to tears, she lightened the mood, made him smile. “Your wish is my command,” he said, and rolled to her side to yank the offending footwear off.

One boot tumbled to the floor, the other skittered across the room.

“Anything else, your grace?” he asked.

She cocked her head coyly. “Your shirt could go, too, I suppose.”

He complied, and the linen garment landed on the nightstand.

“Will that be all?”

“These,” she said, hooking her finger around the waistband of his breeches, “are definitely in the way.”

“I agree,” he murmured, shrugging them off. He crawled over her, on his hands and knees, his body a hot prison around her. “Now what?”

Her breath caught. “Well, you're quite naked.”

“That is true,” he concurred, his eyes burning down on hers.

“And I'm not.”

“That is also true.” He smiled like a cat. “And a pity it is.”

Daphne nodded, completely without words.

“Sit up,” he said softly.

She did, and seconds later her dress was whipped over her head.

“Now that,” he said hoarsely, staring hungrily at her breasts, “is an improvement.”

They were now kneeling across from each other on the massive four-poster bed. Daphne stared at her husband, her pulse quickening at the sight of his broad chest, rising and falling with each heavy breath. With a trembling hand, she reached out and touched him, her fingers lightly skimming over his warm skin.

Simon stopped breathing until her forefinger touched his nipple, and then his hand shot up to cover hers. “I want you,” he said.

Her eyes flicked downward, and her lips curved ever so slightly. “I know.”

“No,” he groaned, pulling her closer. “I want to be in your heart. I want—” His entire body shuddered when their skin touched. “I want to be in your soul.”

“Oh, Simon,” she sighed, sinking her fingers in his thick, dark hair. “You're already there.”

And then there were no more words, only lips and hands and flesh against flesh.

Simon worshipped her in every way he knew how. He ran his hands along her legs and kissed the back of her knees. He squeezed her hips and tickled her navel. And when he was poised to enter her, his entire body straining against the most all-consuming desire he'd ever felt, he gazed down upon her with a reverence that brought tears to her eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered. “In all my life, it's been only you.”

Daphne nodded and although she made no sound, her mouth formed the words, “I love you, too.”

He pushed forward, slowly, inexorably. And when he was settled fully within her body, he knew he was home.

He looked down at her face. Her head was thrown back, her lips parted as she struggled for breath. He grazed her flushed cheeks with his lips. “You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” he whispered. “I've never—I don't know how—”

She arched her back in response. “Just love me,” she gasped. “Please, love me.”

Simon began to move, his hips rising and falling in time's most ancient rhythm. Daphne's fingers pressed into his back, her nails digging into his skin every time he thrust further into her body.

She moaned and mewled, and his body burned at the sounds of her passion. He was spiraling out of control, his movements growing jerky, more frenetic. “I can't hold on much longer,” he gasped. He wanted to wait for her, needed to know that he'd brought her bliss before he allowed himself his own release.

But then, just when he thought his body would shatter from the effort of his restraint, Daphne shook beneath him, her most intimate muscles squeezing around him as she cried out his name.