and mysterious scents of night. The moon shimmered through in silver dust.
He sat her on the bed, then moved around the room to light the candles that had been set out for practicality and never used. Their flames swayed and tossed soft shadows, a softer fragrance. From the tall bottle on the table by the bed he took one of the flowers she had picked from the cottage garden and put there. He handed it to her.
Then he sat beside her, lifted her into his lap and held her. The way she curled into him as if she'd been waiting made him wonder how they had missed this step. Why they had both rushed to reach the peak, time after time, night after night, without once lingering over the journey.
This time, he promised himself. This time.
When he touched a hand to her cheek, she lifted her face, lifted her mouth to meet his. Time spun out, lost importance in this new and sumptuous mating of lips. The love hidden inside her heart poured into it without shame or fear, and still continued to rise inside her as if from a well that never ran dry.
Here was the compassion neither thought they needed, the tenderness both had shrugged aside, and all the patience they'd forgotten.
He pressed his lips to the center of her palm. Her hands were elegant, he thought, silky of texture. They might have belonged to a princess in a castle. No, there was too much strength in them for a princess. A queen, he decided, kissing her fingers one by one, who knew how to rule.
He brushed his lips over the inside of her wrist, and felt her blood beat there.
Music whispered on the wind as he laid her back on the pillows. Her arms came up, her fingers skimming over his face, into his hair, as gentle as his had been. Her eyes weren't clouded now, but clear.
'There's magic tonight,' she said, and drew him down to her.
They touched, as if it was the first time, as if there had been no others before or would be no others after.
Innocence reaching for intimacy. For that night at least, she knew it was true and gave herself to it. To him.
Through the glow of candlelight and moonbeams, they gave to each other.
He tasted and she whispered. She stroked and he murmured. Sounds of pleasure twined together. Without rush, they undressed each other and savored the magic.
His skin was tones darker than hers. Had he noticed that before? Had he paid enough attention to how like silk she was, or how passion, the gradual, glorious build of it, gave that lovely white skin a flush of rose?
The taste of her, there, just at the underside of her breast. Nothing else had that delicacy of flavor. He thought he could live on that alone for the rest of his life.
And when his tongue slid over her and she shivered, he was sure of it.
Even when warmth simmered toward heat, when breaths became gasps and murmurs moans, there was no hurry. She crested on a long, gentle wave, her body flowing up to his. She felt golden, rich with sensation, each one somehow separate and shining even as they merged together.
Love made her selfless, nudged her to give back the glory. She rose over him, slid down to him, her lips warm and tender. Her hands skimmed over him, tough muscles that quivered at her lazy strokes, smooth skin that delighted her.
Now, she thought, now before greed could sneak back and steal this time from them. She clasped his hands with hers and took him into her.
Slowly and silkily, with urgency only a pulsebeat away. He filled, she surrounded.
The light danced over her skin, her hair, into her eyes, bewitching him. He remembered the painting of the mermaid with her face, that gorgeous arch of body, lovely tumble of hair. She belonged to him now, fact and fantasy. He'd have followed her, if she'd asked, into the sea. Into the heart of it.
Her eyes closed, her head tipped back, her body bowed. Nothing he'd ever seen was more beautiful than that moment when she lost herself. The shiver ran down her and into him. He swore he could feel it, feel her, in every cell.
He came up to meet her, wrapping his arms around her, pressing his lips to the hollow of her throat. And it was there, holding each other, that they let go of everything else and sank under the surface, and toward the heart, together.
In the dark, wrapped around him, her mind sliding toward sleep, Darcy closed a hand over the silver disk that lay on his heart. She assumed his Irish-loving mother had given it to him, and that he wore it touched her.
'What does it say?' she murmured, because the words were faded and unclear to her.
But when he told her she was already drifting, so his voice floated like out of a dream. Forever love.
Later, when they slept, he dreamed a dream of blue water shot through with sunlight like bright jewels, tipped by white waves that spewed drops like tears. Beneath the surface, where silence should have reigned, was music. A celebration of sound that quickened the pulse and fed the spirit.
He went toward it, searching shadows and light for the source. The golden sand beneath his feet was littered with gemstones, as if some carelessly generous hand had strewn them like bread crumbs.
A silver palace rose up into the blue light, its towers glinting and a banquet of flowers spread at its feet. The music swelled, seduced, became female. A woman's voice raised in song. A siren's call that was irresistible.
He found her beside the silver palace, sitting on a hill of rich blue that pulsed like a heart. There she sat and sang and smiled at him in a beckoning way.
Her hair, dark as midnight, flowed around her, teased the milky skin of her breasts. Her eyes, blue as the hill, laughed.
He wanted her more than he wanted to live. The wanting made him feel weak, and the weakness infuriated him. Still he couldn't stop himself from going to her.
'Darcy.'
'Have you come for me, then, Trevor?' Her voice wove spells, magic threads winding even when she spoke. 'What will you give me?'
'What do you want?'
She only laughed again, shook her head. 'It's for you to figure out.' She reached out a hand, coyly inviting him to join her. Jewels sparkled at her wrist, little points of brilliant fire. 'What will you give me?'
Frustration beat through his blood. 'More of these,' he said, touching the gems at her wrist. 'As many as you want, if that's what you want.'
She held her arm out, turning it so the stones shot fire.
'Well, I can't say I mind having such things, but it's not enough. What else have you got?'
'I'll take you to all the places you want to see.'
She pouted at that and picked up a glittering comb to run it through her flowing hair. 'Is that all?'
Temper snaked up, hissed in his throat. 'I'll make you rich, famous. Put the damn world at your feet.'
Now she yawned.
'Clothes,' he snapped. 'Servants, houses. The envy and admiration of everyone who sees you. Everything you could ask for.'
'It's not enough.'
He saw that this time when she spoke, her eyes wept.
'Can't you see it's not enough?'
'What, then?' He reached for her, intending to pull her up, to make her answer, but before his hands could touch, he slipped, stumbled, and was falling.
The voice that followed him wasn't Darcy's, but Gwen's. 'Until you know and give, it won't be done. Until you do, it won't begin.'
He shot out of sleep like a man at the edge of drowning, heart thundering, breath raw. And even then, awake, aware, he heard the faintest whisper.
'Look at what you already have. Give what's only yours to give.'
'Christ.' Shaken, he got out of bed. Darcy shifted closer to the warmth he'd left, and slept on.
He started toward the bathroom, for water, then yanked on his jeans instead and went downstairs. Three A.M., he thought when he saw the clock. Perfect. He got down the bottle of whiskey and poured a stiff three fingers into a glass.
What the hell was wrong with him? But he knew, and knocked back the whiskey, hissed at the heat, set down the glass. He was in love with her. With a half laugh, he pressed his fingers to his eyes. Fell in love over bagels, he
