"Oh, yes." The words held a note of awe, as if he, too, were having trouble believing what had taken place between them, not once but twice. And then he pulled her onto his chest and wrapped her close, and the gesture was so lovingly protective that she almost cried again.
Swallowing hard, she snuggled into the hollow of his shoulder and wondered almost dispassionately what the future held for her. Pain, most certainly, when her time with Clay ended. He'd said nothing about making their relationship permanent, had spoken no words of love. He'd told her only that he wanted her, and desire alone was not enough. Yet the future would also hold such beautiful memories. How could she regret what they'd done? She could only be profoundly grateful that she'd known such joy at least once in her life. She would never have believed that anything could have been so wonderful, had she not experienced it herself.
He must have felt her smile against his skin. "What are you thinking?"
She chuckled. "I was remembering the night I met you. I tried then to imagine what you must be like in bed."
"Did you?" He sounded delighted. "Why, Spring, I'm shocked."
"You mean you didn't wonder the same thing about me?" She tried to sound insulted.
She could hear his grin in his answer. "Of course not. And if you believe that, there's this bridge a few miles from here that I'd like to sell you."
He paused for a moment, then asked curiously, "So what did you think I'd be like in bed?"
"Imaginative, sensitive, considerate, and downright good," she replied humorously, recalling her exact thoughts.
"Mmm. And how was I?"
"Feeling insecure, Clay?"
"Come on Spring, I can't stand it I What's your opinion?"
Propping herself on her elbow, she relented and smiled down at him. "That you're imaginative, sensitive, considerate, and downright good."
His smile seemed to light the shadowy corners of the room. "Thank you."
"Believe me, it was entirely my pleasure," she answered with heartfelt fervency.
Then she frowned, suddenly overcome by feminine curiosity. "Well?"
He feigned innocence. "Well, what?"
"How was I?"
"Honestly, Spring, postmortems are so tacky," he drawled, then choked dramatically when her hand enclosed his throat. "Okay, okay, I'll tell."
She released his windpipe and smiled sweetly. "Well? Was I what you expected?"
"No."
"No?" Dismayed, she repeated his answer questioningly.
Laughing at her expression, he shook his head. "No. I thought you would be prim and proper and just a bit inhibited. Not that I wasn't looking forward to it, anyway, you understand. But had I known how passionate and responsive you really are, I'd have thrown you over my shoulder and hauled you into my bed that first night."
She shook her head. "It's showing again."
Lifting an eyebrow, he glanced downward along his long, perspiration-sheened body. "I beg your pardon?"
She just managed not to laugh. "I mean, that streak of macho in you is showing again."
"Oh, that."
"Idiot." The word came out an endearment. She toyed with the sparse hair on his chest for a while, then peeked through her lashes at his contented face. "Speaking of food..."
"Were we?"
"Yes. Don't you think dinner should be ready by now?"