There was urgency here. She could taste it as his tongue plunged deep into her mouth, demanding. Impatient, his hands molded her body. Because his feelings mirrored her own, her response was explosive. Her blood was molten, throbbing as it flowed close under her skin. The heat was unbearable. Delicious. It grew only more intense as he stripped her.
A primitive sound hummed deep in her throat. With a speed and fury that rocked him, she was yanking off his shirt, dragging his jeans over his hips. Desperate, she rolled, reversing their positions, making a fast, hot journey over him. She heard his breath catch, and the sound sent her excitement soaring to new heights.
Power. It was indeed the ultimate aphrodisiac. She could make him tremble and ache and whisper her name. She’d never known that with such little effort she could make him helpless.
And he was beautiful. The feel of him under her hands, the taste of him that lingered on her tongue. And strong. There were ridges of muscles, firm, tight. But they trembled under the delicate dance of her fingertips.
He’d wanted to make her remember. Cal groaned under the weight of the sensations she was bringing to him. It was he who would remember, always. The music that he had always loved, the simple eloquence of it, filled his head. He knew it would remind him of her from now to forever.
He could feel the heat radiate from her as she moved her body up his, searching, finding his mouth. Her kiss was slow, sultry, something he could drown in. Then she was laughing, evading his questing hands as she drove him toward madness again.
He couldn’t bear it. His heart was pounding against his ribs, echoed by dozens of frantic pulses throughout his body. The rhythm seemed to call out her name, again and again, until he was filled with it.
“Libby.” The word was hoarse, as raw as his need. “For God’s sake.”
Then she closed over him like hot velvet. The sound she made was hardly more than a moan, but it vibrated with triumph. Lost in her own pleasure, she set a wild pace, feeling her strength bound high, then higher, as her need swelled.
A free-fall through space, a springboard through time. He’d experienced both, but they were nothing compared with this. Blindly he reached for her, and his hands slid down her slick skin. Just as their palms met, they leaped over the top together.
***
Perfection. Lazily content, Libby cuddled closer, resting her cheek just over Cal’s heart, all but purring as he stroked her hair.
Soothed. Every part of her was content. Body, mind, heart. She wondered how long it was possible for two people to lie curled in bed without food or water. Forever. She smiled to herself. She could almost believe it.
“My parents have a cat,” she murmured. “A fat yellow cat named Marigold. He doesn’t have an ounce of ambition.”
“A male cat named Marigold?”
Still smiling, she ran a hand down his arm. “You met my parents.”
“Right.”
“Anyway, he lies on the windowsill every afternoon. All afternoon. Right this minute I know exactly how he feels.” She stretched, only a little, because even that seemed to require too much effort. “I like your bed, Hornblower.”
“I’ve grown fond of it myself.”
They were silent for a while, drifting. “That music.” It was playing in her head now, sweet, almost unbearably romantic. “I keep thinking I should recognize it.”
“Salvadore Simeon.”
“Is he a new composer?”
“Depends on your point of view. Late twenty-first century.”
“Oh.” Her bubble burst. Sometimes forever was a very short time. Holding on one last moment, she turned her head to press her lips to his chest. His heart beat there, strong and steady. “Poetry, classical music and aircycles. An interesting combination.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, very. I also know you’re hooked on soaps and game shows.”
“That’s research.” He grinned as she pushed herself to a sitting position beside him. “I want to be able to speak intelligently on all popular forms of twentieth-century entertainment.” He paused a moment, thinking. “Do you suppose they kept archives? I really want to know if Blake and Eva work things out in spite of Dorian’s conniving. Then there’s the problem of who’s framing Justin for the murder of the evil and despicable Carlton Slade. I vote for the sweet-faced but hard-hearted Vanessa.”
“Hooked,” she said again, and drew her knees up to her chest to grin at him. “Don’t you have soaps?”
“Sure. Never took the time to watch. I always figured they were for homeworkers.”
“Homeworkers.” She repeated it, liking the precise, genderless phrase. “I haven’t asked you all those questions.” Libby settled her chin on her knees. “When we get back we should finish writing up everything that’s happened to you.”