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She fisted her hands in his hair. “More,” she said, and dragged him back against her.

She fell on him, seeking to plunder. Her body was a morass of aches and glory, too battered by sensations to separate pain from pleasure. Clashed together, they equalled greed.

She feasted on him, on the hard, disciplined body, on the poet’s mouth, the warrior’s shoulders. Her hands streaked over him. Mine, she thought now as she had then. Mine.

He rolled, pinning her. He shoved her hips high and drove in, hard. Hard and deep. And held there, buried in her, while she came.

“There’s more.” His lungs screamed, and the dark pleasure all but blinded him as she fisted around him. “We’ll both have more.”

She rose to him, wrapped around him, matching him thrust for desperate thrust. When the need lanced through him, through heart, through head, through loins, he gave himself to it, and to her.

He rested his head between her breasts. The most perfect of pillows for a man, in his current opinion. Her heart was still thundering, or perhaps it was his. He felt a raging thirst and hoped he’d find the energy to quench it in the next year or two.

“I remembered something else,” she told him.

“Hmm.”

“We didn’t make it to the bed the first time back then either.”

“Eventually we did. But I think I had you on the dinner table first.”

“I had you on the dinner table. Then you had me in the tub.”

“I believe you’re right about that. Then we managed to find the bed, where we proceeded to have each other. We had some dinner and some champagne before the table was so hastily cleared.”

“I could eat.” She combed her fingers lazily through his hair. “But maybe we can eat right here on the floor so we don’t have to move very much. I think my legs are paralyzed.”

He chuckled, nuzzled, then lifted his head. “It’s been a fine and remarkable year. Come then, I’ll help you up.”

“Can we get food in here?”

“Absolutely. It’s all arranged for.” He got to his feet, hauled her to hers. “Give me a minute.”

“Roarke? This is a really nice present.”

He smiled at her, then went to the wall and keyed in something on a panel. “Night’s young yet.”

A droid that looked remarkably French wheeled a cart in as the elevator opened. Instinctively Eve tossed an arm over her breasts, the other below her waist. And made Roarke laugh.

“You have the oddest sense of modesty. I’ll fetch you a robe.”

“I never see droids around here.”

“I assumed you’d object to Summerset bringing in the dinner. Here you are.”

He handed her a robe. Or she supposed you could call it a robe—if you didn’t define one as actually covering anything. This was long and black and completely transparent. His grin flashed when she frowned at it.

“It’s my anniversary, too, you know.” He shrugged into a robe of his own, one, she noted, that wasn’t so skimpy on the layers.

He poured the champagne the droid had opened, then offered her a glass. “To the first year, and all that follow.” He touched his glass to hers.

He dismissed the droid, and she saw he hadn’t missed a detail with the meal, either. There was the same succulent lobster, the tender medallions of beef in the delicate sauce, the same glossy hills of caviar they’d shared on their wedding night.

Candlelight shimmered and the music of the rain was joined by something that soared with strings and flutes.

“I really didn’t forget.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I tried to push it aside. Roarke.” She reached over, closed her hand over his. “I want you to know that I wouldn’t change anything, not one thing that’s happened since the first time I saw you. No matter how often you’ve pissed me off.”

He shook his head. “You are the most fascinating woman I’ve ever known.”

“Get out.”

When she laughed, started to pull back, he tightened his grip on her hand. “Brave, brilliant, irritating, funny, exasperating, driven. Full of complications and compassion. Sexy, surprisingly sweet, mean as a snake. Disarmingly lacking in self-awareness, and stubborn as a mule. I adore