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Art pulled me into a hug and kissed my forehead chastely. “I’ve had my fair share of one-night stands and flash-in-the-pan physical relationships.”

“Brag much,” I teased, wincing internally.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Art said, slipping his hand behind my neck and pulling my face to his while running his index finger slowly along my hairline in a way that made my knees weak and my core melt into hot goo. “You are by far the sexiest of them all, and I plan to take my sweet time exploring all the ways I can give you every ounce of pleasure you deserve. I cannot wait to hear all the little noises I can get you to make,” he whispered hoarsely, nibbling on my earlobe before moving his lips to the tender spot on my neck right behind my ear.

My knees shook a little more, and I let out a tiny gasp that was more of a whimper than anything else. Art smiled against my neck and moaned deep in his chest.

“Just like that one,” he said before pulling back—still running his finger languidly along my nape—to meet my eyes with his incandescent gaze. “Where have you been all my life, Meg MacIntosh?” he asked softly. “You are truly spectacular. I want us to get to know each other slowly and thoroughly, so that when we do sleep together, it’s far more than a flash in the pan.”

The thrill that ran through me wasn’t only due to whatever magic he was doing to the back of my neck. He could have promised me all the riches in the world, and they wouldn’t have enticed me half as much as having him tell me he wanted to see me. Truly see me.

“I want to see you too,” I whispered, drawing his mouth to mine to kiss it gently. His answering moan made my lips vibrate.

“I’ve been waiting so long to hear someone say that,” he replied with a groan I felt vibrate deep in my core.

Wrapping my hands in his shirt, I pulled him closer to me, inadvertently opening the top two buttons. I couldn’t resist gently brushing my fingertips across his suddenly exposed skin. He growled, deep in his throat, and pulled me even closer, hoisting me up so he could drag his mouth down the side of my neck and along my collarbone to the place on my body where my fingers lingered on his. We stumbled like that to the bedroom, stopping periodically along the way to pop open more buttons and explore freshly exposed skin.

Art’s shirt fell open all the way when threw himself backward onto the bed and gestured for me to join him, and I froze, immobilized by a hurricane of thoughts and feelings. His eyes shone and the tip of his tongue darted out to lick his upper lip. My entire body flushed as I briefly contemplated all the things he might want to do to me with it.

Even as my body vibrated with the desire to jump into bed and plaster myself against him, Jim’s constant criticism echoed in my head, shouting all the things I wasn’t and could never be. It drowned out the internal voice urging me to ignore everything I’d been told about myself and believe instead the body language of the man lying unabashedlyvulnerable in my bed as he opened his arms to me in invitation.

He was so beautiful with his thick salt-and-pepper hair, and the full, equally gray beard framing a sweet, encouraging smile that promised nothing but gentle affection. His kind eyes held no hint of malice or calculation, just unbridled admiration and delight as he looked me up and down. They widened appreciatively, and for a nanosecond, I let myself entertain the thought that maybe he did just want to get to know me, the real me. That he wasn’t contemplating what I could do for him or to him. That things really could be as simple as he said.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into an almost irresistible grin that I longed to trace with my finger. “Come here. I promise, I just want to hold you.” He pulled the blanket over himself and held it open for me to come lie by his side. “I don’t bite,” he teased, winking at me. “Unless you ask very, very nicely.”

The laugh that bubbled out of me broke the hold Jim’s voice had on me, and I scrambled onto the bed and tucked myself neatly into the crook of Art’s arm. For an instant, his size and shape felt wrong, but when he dropped the blanket over me and pulled me into his embrace, the disconcerting sensation vanished. I couldn’t explain why or how, but being in Art’s arms felt like coming home.

For a long while, neither of us said anything as we basked in the warmth and closeness of each other’s bodies, relishing the absence of pressure or expectation of more. Art’s thumb caressed my shoulder as I trailed my fingers lightly up and down his arm, marveling at how something so soft could also be so strong. Jim and I had slept together hundreds of times over the two decades we’d been together, but I’d never felt this safe or this relaxed in his embrace.

Art’s hand moved down to explore more of me, and I gasped as his fingers snuck under the back of my shirt and brushed over a sensitive spot. My back arched, pressing my body harder against his side, and I trailed my hand from his arm to his torso. With a low growl, he placed his free hand over mine and pinned it in place.

“What’s your least favorite food?” he gasped, breaking the silence.

“What?” I asked, lifting my head.

“I said I wanted to get to know you first,” he explained, his voice a little hoarse, gently pressing my head back against his shoulder so he could kiss my forehead. “I meant it.”

“That…”—I laughed—“is not where I thought we would start. But, if you must know, it’s peas. Loathe them. Always have.”

“Noted. No peas. I hate ketchup,” he said solemnly.

“What?” I lifted my head incredulously.

He shrugged. “I know. It’s weird.”

“No!” I protested, twisting to look at his face. “That’s not what I meant. I hate ketchup too. Everyone always looks at me like I’m out of my mind when I say it, though.”

His laughter rumbled through him and he hugged me closer. “See? Meant to be. I knew it.”

We covered childhood pets, where we would like to travel, and the books we most often escaped into as children, until finally Art brought the conversation back to the thing I’d been most reluctant to talk about all night.

“You looked so sad. It broke me a little to not be able to take that pain from you.”

“My brother, Mac, and I are twins,” I started, surprising myself. “And even though we have a plethora of aunts and cousins, Mac was my only family in every way that matters. We didn’t have family meals or cozy moments reading in bed like tonight. Let’s just say we did not have a Norman Rockwell family experience.”

“Okay. So dinner tonight…?” Art prompted.

“Was everything I ever wanted.”