“Could you be happy?”

“Having you all to myself ? That would be heaven.” My mouth curved. “I have a Tarzan fantasy. You Tarzan, me Jane.”

The tension in his shoulders visibly eased and a faint smile touched his mouth. “We’ve been married a month. Why am I just now hearing about this?”

“I figured I’d give it a few months before I whipped out the freaky.”

Gideon flashed me a rare, wide smile and fried my brain in the process. “How does the fantasy go?”

“Oh, you know.” I waved one hand carelessly. “Tree house, loincloth. Weather hot enough to put a sheen of sweat on you, but not too hot. You’d be seething with the need to fuck but have no experience doing it. I’d have to show you how.”

He stared at me. “You have a sexual fantasy in which I’m a virgin?”

It took a lot of effort not to laugh at his incredulity. “In every way,” I said, with utmost seriousness. “You’ve never seen breasts or a woman’s * before mine. I have to show you how to touch me, what I like. You catch on quick, but then I’ve got a wild man on my hands. You can’t get enough.”

“That’s reality.” He headed toward the kitchen. “I have something for you.”

“A loincloth?”

He answered over his shoulder. “How about what goes in it?”

My mouth curved. I half expected him to come back out with wine. I straightened when I saw that he had something small and bright red in his hand, a color and shape I recognized as Cartier. “A present?”

Gideon crossed the distance between us with his confident, sexy stride.

Excited, I rose onto my knees. “Gimme, gimme.”

He shook his head, holding his hand aloft as he sat. “You can’t have what I haven’t given you yet.”

I sank back down, putting my hands on my thighs.

“In answer to your questions …” He brushed his fingertips across my cheek. “Yes, I feel married.”

My pulse fluttered.

“Coming home to you,” he murmured, his gaze on my mouth, “watching you whip up dinner in our kitchen. Even having damned Arash here. That’s what I want. You. This life we’re building.”

“Gideon …” My throat burned.

He looked down at the red suede pouch in his hand. He flipped open the button that kept it closed and poured two platinum crescents into the palm of his hand.

“Wow.” My hand went to my throat.

He caught my left wrist and pulled it gently into his lap, sliding one half of the bracelet beneath it. The other half he held up to me, so I could see that he’d inscribed something inside.

ALWAYS MINE. FOREVER YOURS. —GIDEON

“Oh, boy,” I breathed, watching as my husband fit the top half of the bracelet to the bottom. “This is sooo getting you laid.”

His soft laugh made me fall deeper in love with him.

The bracelet had a screw motif that circled the entire band, with two actual screws on the sides that he secured with a small screwdriver.

“This,” he held up the screwdriver, “is mine.”

I watched him tuck it into his pocket, understanding that I wouldn’t be able to get the bracelet off without him. Not that I’d want to. I already treasured it—and the proof of his romantic soul.

“And this”—I straddled his hips, draping my arms over his shoulders—“is mine.”

His hands gripped my waist, his head tipping back to expose his throat to my questing lips. It wasn’t surrender. It was indulgence, and that was just fine with me.

“Take me to bed,” I whispered, my tongue rimming the shell of his ear.

I felt his muscles bunch, then flex effortlessly as he stood while holding me as if I weighed nothing at all. I gave a throaty purr of appreciation and he swatted my ass, hitching me higher before carrying me out of the living room.

I was panting, my heart racing. My hands were everywhere, sliding through his hair and over his shoulders, unknotting his tie. I wanted to get to his skin, to feel him flesh to flesh. My lips roved over his face, kissing everywhere I could reach.

His stride was purposeful, but leisurely. His breathing even and steady. He kicked the door closed with a graceful, easy push.

Oh God, it drove me insane when he was that controlled.

He tried to set me down on the bed, but I held on.

“I can’t take your clothes off if you don’t let me go.” Only the hoarseness of his voice betrayed his need.

I released him, tackling the buttons of his vest before he straightened. “Take your clothes off.”

He swatted my fingers away so he could take over. I stared, my breath held, as he started to strip.

The sight of his hands, tanned by the sun, glittering with the rings I’d given him, deftly unknotting his tie … How could that be so erotic?