I feel him the instant I step into the room. An intense crackle of energy arcs into me, soaring through my blood. A happiness like no other fills me, a deluge of colors almost overwhelming in depth and intensity.

He's standing on the other side of the room, his hands in his pockets, his dark hair brushed away from his forehead. Dressed in charcoal-gray slacks and a navy shirt, the tan of his skin making his eyes more brilliant than ever, my husband is strikingly, heartrendingly beautiful. I can only stare at him, as if he's a mirage that will disappear if I blink.

Our eyes meet with a thousand sparks. And then he smiles that gorgeous smile that makes his eyes crease at the corners and takes away what little breath I have left. My knees get so weak I'm not sure I can stand much longer.

But, as it turns out, I don't have to. Because Dean crosses the room to me in a few long strides, wraps his arms around me, and lifts me clear off the ground. He pulls me against him, the length of his body pressed to mine, the heat of him flowing through his shirt and into me.

He tightens one arm around my waist and cups the back of my neck with the other. We stare at each other, his eyes dark and intense before his lips come down on mine in a kiss of fierce, tender possession.

And, just like that, I fall wildly in love with my husband all over again.

A flood of tears fills my eyes. I wind my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his waist, tears slipping down my cheeks even as our lips remain locked together. Emotion ripples around us, all the pent-up longing of our separation breaking open into a spiral of warmth and light.

Finally Dean eases back a few inches and rests his forehead against mine.

"Hey, beauty." His deep voice rolls over my skin.

"Welcome home, professor."

He lowers me down slowly, sliding my body against his. I press my face to the front of his shirt, inhaling the familiar scent of him as the area around my heart expands with love. We stand there forever, wrapped in each other again, our separation disappearing like a shadow lightened by sunshine.

I rub my cheek against his strong chest. "When did you get back?"

"Earlier today. Wanted it to be a surprise."

"Best surprise ever."

He presses his lips to the top of my head. A slight tension courses through him. "I have to leave again, but I've got about ten days. Came back to see you and also for a meeting."

I tighten my arms around his waist and don't respond. The unspoken implication of the meeting is clear enough, and I want nothing bad to invade our reunion.

I ease back to look at him. He puts his hand against my cheek, the tension fading as he brushes away the tears still tracking down my face.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you," he says.

"Oh, I have an idea. Especially if it's half as happy as I am to see you."

"It's twice as happy. No, way more than that."

"Not possible."

He smiles, sliding his thumb across my lips, his gaze warm. Pleasure fills me at that look, so replete with love and tenderness that I'm reminded anew that together we can withstand anything.

Brushing his hand over my neck, Dean steps away and goes to the telephone. His gaze still on me, he picks up the phone and presses a button.

"About ready here," he says into the receiver.

I give him a puzzled look. He turns away and lowers his voice. I take the opportunity to look around the room, which I haven't even noticed in my excitement. Firefly Cottage is a bright, airy place with maple furniture and a gleaming, hardwood floor. Ivory curtains hang from the windows, a hand-crafted down quilt covers the bed, and there's even a little kitchen with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops.

I step to the French doors on the other side of the room, which lead to a private porch and a pathway to the shore of the lake. The sky is still light enough that I can see the water rippling in the wind, the mountains outlined against the horizon like a painting.

I turn at the sound of a knock on the front door, and Brent appears with a wheeled cart topped with silver-domed dishes. He grins at me again and sets up the dinner on a linen-covered table beside the windows.

He lights two candles, places a vase of roses on the windowsill, and uncorks a bottle of wine. He exchanges a few words with Dean and puts another covered plate and silver carafe on the kitchen counter.

After Brent leaves, Dean pulls a chair out from the table and gestures for me to sit down. I'm suddenly aware of how I must look-dressed in torn jeans and an old, button-down shirt, grubby from hauling boxes at the bookstore all day, not a speck of makeup on my face.

I run a hand self-consciously over my hair and search in my pocket for a rubber band. I wish I'd taken the time-and had the presence of mind-to at least have put on some lipstick before flying back to my husband.

"Sorry, I didn't even have a chance to brush my hair," I mumble.

"You're beautiful. You're my wish come true."

"Aw." I smile as that fluttering sensation warms my blood. "Good one."

He winks at me. "Don't put your hair up."

I toss the rubber band onto a nearby table, finger-combing the tangles out of my hair before I sit down. By the time Dean has uncovered the plates, I'm even more in love with him. King salmon, wild rice pilaf, grilled zucchini, eggplant, and peppers.

"Our first date dinner," I say. "At the White Rose."

"Hoped you'd remember." Dean pours two glasses of pinot noir and sits across from me. "Not bad with the courting you, huh?"

"On the contrary. All very good."

I'm so happy to be sitting across from him again that I'm not sure I can even eat anything. But the food is delicious, and we soon ease into a comfortable conversation about the Wonderland Cafe, a few local events in Mirror Lake, and the next phase of excavation for the archeological dig.

We keep glancing at each other as we eat, and several times Dean reaches across the table to brush a speck of rice off my lip or push my hair away from my forehead.

"I can't stop touching you," he says, his gaze tracking over my face. "You look incredible. I know you kept telling me you were okay, but I hated not being able to take care of you."

"I've done a pretty good job taking care of myself."

"You really have, Liv. I'm proud of you."

My heart fills with pleasure. It's like the satisfying click of a puzzle piece fitting into place. I reach over to squeeze his hand in silent thanks before we return to our dinners.

The candles are half-burned by the time we start eating slices of rich chocolate torte for dessert. When we've both finished, Dean pushes away from the table and comes around to my side.

He grasps my hands and tugs me to my feet. His expression fills with warmth as he gazes at me for a long minute.

"And now, my beauty," he says, placing his hands on either side of my face, "I'm going to kiss you like I've never kissed you before."

Oh...

Desire brews in his eyes as he lowers his head to press his mouth against mine. I melt, falling into him as if we've never been apart, as if we've never had any heartache between us. The years slip away, my entire being sparking with that thrilling anticipation of discovering the depths of our attraction.

I part my lips under his, my body swaying against him as his tongue slides into my mouth. Lust flames through me, scorching my blood. He tastes like chocolate, his breath warm and delicious.

The ache of longing from the past few weeks disappears into this... all heat and light. The world both spins and steadies around me, a cascade so thrilling because I know that no matter how far and wildly I fall, Dean will always be there to catch me.

He takes my face in his hands, lifting his head just far enough so he can trail kisses over my cheek to my ear, down to my neck, then back up to my lips again. Each touch of his mouth sends shivers raining through me. His body heat burns through his shirt, and I press closer, my nipples hardening against his chest. I can feel the urgency coiling in him, the hunger that has gone unsatisfied for too long.

We tumble onto the bed together. Dean curls his fingers around my wrists to pin my hands beside my head. He shifts halfway on top of me, putting his leg over my thighs as he lowers his head to kiss me again.

His body is powerful and hot, his chest a solid wall of muscle against my breasts. He deepens the kiss, licking my lower lip, claiming me again. Pleasure swirls through me, thought disappearing into the reminder of everything we are to each other.

Dean releases one of my wrists and moves his hand to the front of my shirt, slipping two buttons free to expose a deeper V of skin and the swell of my cleavage. My heart kicks into high gear at the sensation of his hand on my bare skin, his erection pressing against my thigh. I'm drowning in images of our naked bodies sliding together, my legs wrapped around his hips as he thrusts into me again and again...

I close my eyes as Dean kisses the hollow of my throat, his breath steaming against my skin. I grip the back of his shirt, eager to pull it from the waistband of his trousers and run my hands over his muscular back.

And then, unwelcome and sudden, a wave of stark worries filters through my haze of lust.

It's been at least twelve hours since I last showered... I'm wearing an old white bra that's been washed so many times it's gray... and, oh lord, when was the last time I shaved my legs...?

"You feel so damn good." His muffled whisper brushes against my skin as he trails a kiss lower. "I want to..."

Then a sense of restraint goes through him as he slows the explorations of his hands and mouth. He lifts his head to look at me, his hand resting loosely against my throat, his eyes filled with heat.

I reach up to brush his disheveled hair away from his forehead, stroking my palm over his cheek.

"What?" I whisper, still throbbing despite my concerns about my current neglect of personal care.

He shifts away from me with a groan, rolling onto his back. He throws his arm across his eyes. His chest heaves.

"Dean?"

"We're not going any further." His voice is rough.

"We're... we're not?"

"I'm stopping with a kiss tonight."

"What? Why?" I'm bewildered. Even with my hesitations, I'd just assumed he'd be pounding into me like a jackhammer by now.

My whole body goes weak at the thought, and inwardly I'm screaming, "Oh God, yes, fuck me harder, faster... more... oh, please..."

I squeeze my thighs together. I'm on the edge. I'm so far over the edge I'm about to go crashing over it into pure bliss.

Dean swears, scrubbing his hands over his face. "We're dating again, right? That means we're not having sex yet."

I push up to my elbows and stare at him. "At all?"

"Not yet. And I'm staying here at the hotel."

"For your whole visit?"

"Yeah."

I'm not sure whether to find this proposal sweet or disappointing. In addition to being so hot I'm about to go up in flames, I've also been having all sorts of sexy, romantic images of what we'd do together once he comes back home and my legs are shaved.

"So you're going to stay at a hotel because we're dating again?" I ask, convinced I misheard something.

"Like how it was when we first met."

I can't help smiling. That's what I wrote in my manifesto: I will remember how it was when we first met.

I shift onto my side to look at Dean. The candlelight flickers over his strong features, creating a pattern of light and shadow and emphasizing the golden flecks in his brown eyes. The lines of stress that once bracketed his mouth and eyes have eased, his tension replaced by the Dean who is sure of himself and his place in the world.

"What about all that sexy talking we did over the phone?" I ask.

"Doesn't count. We did that when we were dating, remember?"

"Oh, I remember." A flutter of pleasure goes through me at the thought of all the erotic things we did in those early months. "We did a lot more than that when we were dating."

Back then, I'd been both so nervous and so comfortable around him-unsettled by how much I wanted him, embarrassed by all the things I wanted to do with him, and yet never had I felt more like myself than when I was with him.

Now after our long separation, I desperately want him to come home, to be back with me where he belongs. And yet...

Dean turns his head to look at me with those eyes that can see right into the center of my heart. He knows exactly what I know-that as difficult as it is to stop ourselves, this new, restrained intimacy reminds us of the beginning. Of our beginning.

Though my whole body tingles at the thought of stretching out our anticipation, I can't help glancing at the impressive bulge in his trousers. I battle back a wild surge of desire. My fingers flex with the urge to slide my hand over his thigh, rub all that delicious hardness...

I swallow to ease the dryness in my throat. "Um, so when do we get to..."

Dean puts his big, warm hand against my cheek. "I'm taking you out tomorrow night for a special date. Courting you, like you wanted. And afterward, you're coming back here and spending the whole weekend with me. Just us. We're going to watch the sun set over the lake, order room service, take baths together, sit by the fire, and spend a lot of time fucking... fast and slow and good."

"Oh..." An ache of hot longing fills me. "I love you."

"I know." A gleam appears in his eyes, ratcheting my heartbeat up again. "But you're waiting for me this time, Mrs. West."

"I don't want to wait," I breathe, sinking toward him, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on mine, more of his intoxicating kisses that make my head spin and my body throb. "Dean, we've waited for so long... please, kiss me again..."

Lust flares in his eyes again. He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me toward him, crushing his lips to mine with a force that rockets desire through me. With a moan, I sink back against the bed, driving my fingers into his rumpled hair, my own hesitations slipping away like torn silk.

He tightens his grip on my nape and lifts away from me again, his breath hot against my mouth. "Not yet."

While I know that Dean has an immense amount of self-control and discipline, this is off the charts even for him. I slide my palm over the side of his neck, feeling the heavy beat of his pulse.

"You're sure?" I can hardly get the question past the heat filling my throat.

Dean lifts his hand and traces my lips, pushing his thumb gently into my mouth. A groan rumbles through his chest when I close my lips around his thumb and suck.

"I promise," he whispers. "It'll be worth it."

I ease away to look at him. "You're really really sure?"

"Uh huh. I have a plan. I'm sticking to it."