“Would you like to?” he says. His voice is hardly audible above the wind—so low it’s barely a whisper.“Would I like to what?” My heart is roaring, rushing in my ears, and thoughthere are still several inches between his hand and mine, there’s a zipping,humming energy that connects us, and from the heat flooding my body youwould think we were pressed together, palm to palm, face to face.“Dance,” he says, at the same time closing those last few inches and findingmy hand and pulling me closer, and at that second the song hits a high note and Iconfuse the two impressions, of his hand and the soaring, the lifting of the music.We dance.”

“Lucas should've run out of there that instant. Instead he stared at me through the glass and slowly unfolded his hand opposite mine so that our hands were pressed againts the pane of glass, fingers to fingers, palm to palm. We each move closer, so that our faces were only inches apart. Even with the stained glass, window between us, it felt as intimate as any kiss we'd shared.”

“My senses flood with feeling, so intense, and then I'm cradled in warmth. The heat stems from my hand and spreads through my body. I look down and lace my fingers through his. He strokes my jawline, lifting my face to meet his emerald eyes-clear and vibrant-like time never passed between us. "You're home," he says, his voice stirring all my love."You're my home.”

“Sean reaches between us and slides a thin bracelet of red ribbons over my free hand. Lifting my arm, he presses his lips against the inside of my wrist. I'm utterly still; I feel my pulse tap several times against his lips, and then he releases my hand."For luck," he says. He takes Dove's lead from me."Sean," I say, and he turns. I take his chin and kiss his lips, hard. I'm reminded, all of a sudden, of that first day on the beach, when I pulled his head from the water. "For luck," I say to his startled face.”

“Jeb releases my fingers and cups my face in his hands, barely touching me, like I'm breakable. "It's me I'm losing control of. Hundreds of sketches, and I still can't get enough of your face." He traces the dimple in my chin with his thumb. "Your neck." His palm moves along my throat. "Your..." Both hands find my waist and drag me off the table so we're standing toe to toe. " I'm not wasting another second drawing you," he whispers against my lips, "when I can touch you instead." He presses his mouth to mine.”

“He lifts my hand from the root and presses it to his bare chest, over his heart. My breath stops. I wonder if he can feel the pulse racing in my wrist, because it’s beating just as quickly as his heartbeat.“Do you know the Ai’oan word for heart?” he asks.I shake my head.“It’s py’a.” We’re so close, his whisper is right in my ear, and his breath warms the side of my neck. “You are my heart, Pia”I lick my lips. When did they get so dry?His other hand cradles the back of my head, tipping my face upward. “A body can't live without a heart. And I can’t live without you.”