And that was the last thing either of them needed to say. Adam shoved his own jeans down and sheathed himself, and Dorsey opened to receive him. As he stepped between her legs, she settled her arms over his shoulders, curving one hand over his nape. He was warm and alive beneath her fingertips, and he was strong and powerful and sure. Most of all, though, he was hers. He was hers forever.
And she would always be his, she knew, a fact that was only reinforced as he entered her, claimed her, branded her as his own. That first fierce stroke went straight to her heart, to her core, to her soul, filling her so completely that she cried out her response. For one long moment, he stayed buried inside her, as if he couldn't tolerate the thought of parting from her, even that little bit. But then, very slowly, he withdrew, only to thrust himself even deeper still.
Dorsey crowded her body against his, wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, held him as close as she possibly could. Again and again their bodies joined, building friction and passion and need. And with each stroke of that intimate union, their souls merged, too. Together, they formed a unity of spirit as old as time, a spirit that was neither male nor female, but generated by the simple presence of love. And when all was said and done, it was that, and nothing more, that truly mattered.
Epilogue
« ^
"I hate summer in the city. It was just too damned hot today. I don't care if it is July."
Adam grinned as Lucas muttered the observation, then passed him the balsamic vinegar for the green salad he was putting together in Adam's kitchen. Both men had just come in from the office and were working in their shirtsleeves to prepare dinner. They had promised Dorsey and Edie that they would actually cook something for a change, instead of picking up carryout on the way home. That had become their habit on the alternating Wednesdays when it was their turn to cook on the weekly dinner date the two couples kept.
Lucas's gripe surprised Adam. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard the kid complain about anything. Oh, wait a minute, yes, he could. Just last week, Lucas had grumbled something about Edie's decision to have the bridesmaids wear pink, because now he'd have to pin a pink—God, pink—rosebud to his lapel at some point in the not too distant future.
Adam chuckled to himself at the recollection and went back to stabbing beef tips and chunks of green pepper onto skewers. A year ago, Lucas Conaway wouldn't have been caught dead within fifty yards of anything pink—not by choice anyway. But after muttering a few more halfhearted lamentations to his fiancée—his fiancée, Adam marveled again with a smile—he'd capitulated easily enough to Edie's command. Of course, Adam thought further, seeing as how he was Lucas's best man, he would have to pin a pink—God, pink—rosebud to his lapel, too. Hmm…
Oh, well. The wedding was still nine months off. Maybe Edie would change her mind. Again.
"So, is Russell Davenport going to give her away?" Adam asked.
Lucas nodded. "Oh, yeah, you bet. He said he wouldn't miss it." He was thoughtful for a moment, then added, "You know, I'm an optimistic man by nature, but even so, it amazes me how quickly Russell's entire family accepted Edie into the fold. Did you know his Aunt Bitsy wrote a letter of recommendation to help Edie get that job at the Mershon Gallery?"
"That was nice of her."
Lucas nodded. "And Russell's arranged a trust for Edie just like the one his other kids have. And he and his wife have already hinted that they're giving us a sailboat for a wedding present. A sailboat," he reiterated with disbelief. "I mean, I wasn't even expecting a gravy boat."
"Too bad Edie's biological mother couldn't be here, too," Adam said soberly.
"Yeah," Lucas agreed. "But at least she found Russell and told him about Edie before she died, so he could look for her. Otherwise, Edie would still be alone."
"No, she wouldn't," Adam pointed out.
Lucas smiled. "That's true. Now, if I could just get her to change her mind about those pink dresses…"
"Quit complaining," Adam told him. "It's bad for your complexion."
"Oh, is that the latest from the resident Man's Life advice columnist?" Lucas asked. "What's Miss Dorsey Manners going to focus on in her girly column this month? Yeast infections?"
Adam chuckled. "No. She's going to address her favorite subject. Pay inequity."
"Oh, well, that ought to be good for spurring sales," Lucas said dryly.
Actually, Adam thought, it probably would be. Although he'd known six months ago that offering Dorsey a job at the magazine was a good idea, he'd had no idea that her popularity would soar the way it had, right out of the gate.
As the author of a monthly column called "From a Woman's Point of View," Dorsey addressed current events and social issues that affected men and women, presenting them from a position men normally never saw—a woman's point of view. She'd also contributed a fair number of woman-in-the-street stories for the publication that had met with surprisingly positive feedback. Man's Life was still a men's magazine, to be sure, but now it had the added dimension of a woman's touch. And hey, men loved to be touched by a woman. Especially one who wrote with the in-your-face frankness that Dorsey MacGuinness provided so well. Especially one who looked like Dorsey MacGuinness looked in the photo that accompanied her column.
Adam smiled as he reflected on that. Over the last six months, Dorsey had changed. Not a lot, and certainly not in any way that altered the essence of who and what she was. But the flannel shirts and jeans in her closet had been joined by short skirts and soft colors. There were high heels sitting on the floor alongside her
