"Sabine," he said, "I do understand."
"All that happened and I didn't think it was possible to love you more, but I did. By the time we were in Iskenderun, I loved you more. And more. And more, Foye, and there didn't seem to be the words to tell you in a proper way." She looked at him with a frown. "When I arrived in Oxford, there was a hole in my heart From missing you. All I could think every minute was how much I missed you and wanted you to come back to me. And how happy I would be when you were with me at last"
She unbuttoned the rest of his coat When she reached up to push it off his shoulders, he released her to let the garment slide down and off his arms. She lay her head against his chest "I missed you, Foye. And I wanted to tell you that I love you. More than anything, I wanted to tell you that" He cupped the back of her head, and she turned her face to his. "I did not say things to Godard that I ought to have. Words that ought to nave been said between us. And then one day he was dead, and I shall never be able to tell him that I loved and admired him."
"He knew, Sabine."
"Therefore," she said resolutely, "I decided that I must tell you how I felt before it was too late. That you are the finest man I have never known. Lovely and generous, and, oh, Foye, I wanted to tell you how lucky I would be to spend the rest of my life with you, and I should have. I should have. Only—" She swallowed hard again. "You were dead. And when I thought you were dead a part of me died with you."
Oh hell, she was crying, she realized. Those were tears blurring her vision. She swiped at her face, and her fingers came away wet.
Foye touched a finger to her cheek. "Don't cry, my love. Please don't cry."
"I thought you were dead, and it killed me. It killed me, Foye. And now you are here. Standing before me, alive, and I won't go another moment without telling you that I love you and that I already know that I cannot bear the thought of living without you. Because, you see, I thought I would have to. I have been living without you all these weeks." She clutched the front of his shirt. "And I was destroyed."
Foye brushed his thumbs along her lower lip. "If you love me, Sabine, I can honestly tell you that I am the happiest man in the world."
"Make love to me, Foye." She curled her fingers against his chest and looked into his eyes. She blinked once and his face came into focus. "Please, make love to me."
He smiled down at her. "I would be delighted."
It wasn't long before Sabine was naked and Foye was in a similar state of undress. He ran a hand down her side, looking her up and down as he touched her. "I've never seen you all the same color, Sabine," he said.
She shifted, arching her body and stretching herself. "What do you think of me, Foye, when I am only Sabine?" She smiled as wickedly as she knew how. "Instead of Pathros?"
"Delicious, madam." He touched her hair, too, which was still short, but longer than when she'd left Iskenderun, and even curlier now. He gathered a handful and kissed the locks. "You smell of violets instead of roses."
"Foye," she whispered, putting her arms around him and pulling his head down to hers. "Now. I want you now."
"Your every wish is my command," he whispered. He rolled onto his back and brought her with him, and his hands slid down to the curve of her belly and he rolled them again, on his big, wide bed and kissed her there, where their child lay.
The sight of him made her body melt for him; it brought out every female instinct that said he needed to be inside of her, claiming her this very minute. And she claiming him. She took a deep breath and tried to ramp down the lust roaring through her body.
"Why are you not inside me, Foye, where I long to have you?" She tangled her fingers in his hair and brought his head up to hers. "You are mine, my lord. Mine and mine and mine forever."
He entered her, and she pressed her head into the mattress, sucking in a deep breath. Her thighs came up around his hips. Her body surrounded him, his warm, hard flesh, and she was wet for him, ready for him.
"Foye," she whispered, "tell me you love me. Tell me again."
"I love you, Sabine." He put his mouth by her ear and stroked forward until he was deep in her. "I love you," he said slowly.
She could feel herself losing the battle for her control, but she wanted this to last. She wanted to see his face, but everything felt too big and vast and she could barely keep back a shout of frustration. He filled her. She dragged her eyes open and saw that he looked quite fierce. Determined about whatever was going on inside his head. She drew her hands down his back, along either side of his spine. "No, Foye. Not tender. Fierce like you are right now. Fierce, the way I love you. Fiercely, love me fiercely. Like this." And she brought him forward into her.
She looked directly into his eyes as she rocked her hips toward his, her legs pulled up. He squeezed his eyes closed, and for a while, so did Sabine. She concentrated on anything but the man who was driving her mad with lust, with love. He drew nearly out of her and then pushed back inside. God. She closed her eyes and mastered herself again.
"Foye," she said, and her voice broke on a sob.
She forced her eyes open, and to her, he was the most beautiful man in the world, naked atop her, in her, touching her, and God help her, she knew a man in passion when she saw one. Without reservation. She pulled his head down to hers and her mouth opened underneath his. They kissed, she kissed him, and he gave back every ounce of the passion there.
He let himself go then, stretching himself over her, driving hard and harder until she couldn't think. She matched him every bit of the way, and when she heard the hitch in his breath that told her he was about to come, she held nothing back, and it was the most magnificent experience of her life to have Foye there with her, whispering that he loved her.
Her entire body clenched as her orgasm shook her, made her tremble with pleasure that was almost pain until she fell and fell and fell, hard and fast and with her husband. And for this moment, her life was perfect. Exactly as she had dreamed.
Sometime afterward, he drew a hand down her bare shoulder as she lay beneath him, wondering where her wits had gone and if she would ever get them back. "Foye."
"Yes, love?"
"You are heavy," she said. "A beast of a man, if you must know."
He pushed up, and he leaned in and kissed her nose before he pulled out of her and rolled onto his back. “I love you, Sabine," he said.
"And I you, Foye." She turned onto her side, one hand holding up her head while the other brushed down the midline of his torso. "I'll need to draw you again. All my pictures of you are gone."
"You may," he said. "Whenever you like." He tightened his arm around her. "You were right the day we met, you know."
"I often am," she said. "What was I right about?"
"The tea leaves."
"I said they were nonsense as I recall."
"But they weren't."
She looked at him from beneath her lashes. "Have you gone mad, my lord?"
He was smiling at her, softly, with a gentleness that brought a lump to her throat. "You foretold that I would be lucky in love."
"You cannot know your future from looking at the dregs in your teacup. I should think you're sensible enough to know that"
"My love," Foye said, "I beg to differ. My fortune was uncannily correct And you were uncannily accurate in your reading." He kissed her. "I have been lucky in love. Luckier than I deserve to be."
"It's I who am fortunate." She touched him again, dragging the tip of her finger across his chest. "Are you happy, Foye?"
"I am, Sabine." His hand drifted to her waist "Never happier in all my life." His voice fell. "You? Are you happy?"
"I think it was my fortune I read in your tea leaves, Foye."
"Is that so?"
"Oh yes. As you know, my readings are never wrong: I am very happy in love."