I smile across the table at him. “That’s true.”

“Is what you want now the same as what you wanted when you were in your twenties?” he asks.

I take one last bite of my dinner and weigh my answer carefully. “What I want is the same. Who I want to share it with has changed. Love and commitment has always been the most important things for me.”

He winks at me, picks up our plates, and carries them across the room to the sink. “Don’t even try to help,” he quips, not looking back at me. I watch him rinse the dishes and place them in the dishwasher, checking out his ass as he bends down. I tried not to, but his body just commands attention.

“I value those things, ya know,” he calls back over his shoulder.

“What things?” I ask, quickly looking away from his sexy rear.

He turns and leans back against the kitchen counter, crossing his muscled arms in front of him.

“Love and commitment,” he answers. “Bring your cute self over here.” His sultry voice drifts across the room and intoxicates me, and I bask in it for a few moments before I get up and walk across the room to him.

“Getting demanding, are you?” I say playfully, peeking up at him. He grabs me around the waist and pulls me against him.

“Would you like it if I was?” His voice takes on a whole new level of raw sexiness, making my legs go wobbly. I rest my hands on his biceps and try to answer him in my own hopefully sexy voice.

“I think I would, Mr. Valentine.”

Leaning down, he kisses me softly. “Dinner was perfect,” I tell him when we part. “And I value those things, too.”

“I know you do, Ivy.” He kisses me once more. “Come upstairs with me? I want to show you the rest of the house.”

“I’d love to,” I answer, wondering if that’s secret code for let’s go upstairs and have sex and I just unknowingly agreed to it. Taking my hand in his, he leads me up the wide wooden stairway.

“My bedroom is down the end of the hall,” he says, gesturing in that direction. “But I’m not going to bring you there, so stop looking like you want to run away. I have these two other bedrooms, which are pretty much never used unless my niece sleeps over, or sometimes my buddy Finn stays over.”

“Finn?” I repeat.

“Yeah, he’s my best friend. Hopefully, you’ll get to meet him sometime, and my niece, too. She’s the cutest thing ever.” We walk toward the loft area, which is set up like a sort of office and art room, with a large desk, easel, and ceramic cups filled with all sorts of different charcoal pencils. More of his framed drawings and paintings decorate the walls.

“Is this where you draw?” I ask, perusing everything. I’ve always been awed by artistic people, and he is one of the most talented I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting in person.

“This is where I’m supposed to draw, but I usually end up drawing in bed or on the couch. Now, I’m going to show you my favorite part of the house.” He draws the blinds back to reveal sliding glass doors.

“Oh! Is this the balcony I saw from the parking lot?”

“It is.”

The balcony is set up like a scene straight from a romance novel. A small electric fireplace is in the corner, which at first seems odd to me since we’re technically outside, but I quickly see the point of it when I see the loveseat over to the right, and the small table in front of it that’s set with lit candles and a vase of purple flowers. A string of tiny white lights runs along the balcony edge and outlines the glass doors. It’s dark outside, but the candles, lights, and fireplace give off just enough light for us to see each other.

“Wow,” I exclaim, eyeing all the little details that he’s obviously put time and thought in to. “This is beautiful . . . I can’t believe you did all this.”

“I was hoping you would like it out here.” He picks up a big thick black throw blanket that’s draped over the couch. “Sit,” he says, nodding to the couch. “We’re gonna snuggle.”

“Oh . . . okay then,” I say, startled by his plan. I didn’t see that coming at all.

“Why do you look so surprised?” He looks at me with that smile on his face that makes my insides go to jelly.

I shake my head as we sit on the loveseat and he lays the blanket over us. It’s cold out, but I don’t feel it at all with the heat from the fireplace and the blanket covering us, not to mention the warmth coming off his body being so close to mine.

“This . . .” I say, looking around. “It’s just so . . . romantic and thoughtful. You do things that most men don’t.”

“I wanted to be under the stars with you.”

He makes my heart clench. Is this real? Is he real? I want to believe he is. I need to believe he is.

“I have something for you,” he says, reaching behind the couch and coming back with a tiny box.

“What? For me?” I stammer, surprised. Is he really giving me a gift?

“Open it.”

I hold the small box in my hands, afraid to open it. I can’t remember the last time someone gave me a surprise gift.

“Why did you get me a present? You shouldn’t be buying me things.”

“Why not? I wanted to give you something, so I made something for you.”

“You gave me a drawing.” There’s no way there’s another drawing in this tiny box. This is like a jewelry box.

“And now, I’m giving you something else. Just open it.”

I open the little red box and push the tissue paper away. Inside, I find a silver necklace with a little tiny fork charm hanging off it.

“Lukas! Oh my God, I love it!” I lift it out of the box, smiling. “You made this?”

He takes it from me and gently puts it around my neck, lifting my hair and clasping the chain.

“I made the little metal fork,” he answers.

I hug him. “Thank you. I love it.” I want to never take this little tiny fork off. His sweetness just gets better and better.

He turns his body toward me, resting his back against a big pillow that’s leaning against the arm of the love seat, and finds my hand under the blanket, lacing his fingers between mine.

“Do you believe in soul mates?” His voice is low and soft, with a hint of hesitancy, like he’s afraid of what I might say.

Lukas doesn’t belong here, I realize right then. He’s a Knight. A prince. A warrior. A Viking. He’s one of those men that fight for love ’til the end of time. One who would carry a woman away on his horse and make mad passionate love to her on the grass. A man who takes what he wants and makes it his forever. A man not afraid to dream or believe in what can’t be seen, but can only be felt. His heart is lost in this time, where people no longer live to love or believe that love can transcend time.

And me, who am I, I wonder.

As a little girl, I dreamed of the fairytale love like we all did. I dreamed of a love that would last forever. I hoped for bouquets of roses for no reason other than to say I love you. I fantasized about a magical marriage proposal and a beautiful wedding gown. None of that happens in real life, though. At least not in mine. I had happy moments, but no magical moments. Until now.

I sigh dreamily and look up at the stars in the dark winter sky. “I love the idea of soul mates,” I finally say, squeezing his hand. “To think that there is someone out there that has loved you before, loves you now, and will love you again? It’s a pretty intense idea, but I think it’s only something that happens in movies and books, unfortunately.”

He pulls me against his chest and wraps one arm around my waist, his other hand letting go of mine, sliding up my arm, over my shoulder, and stopping to rest at my neck, holding me so he can look into my eyes.

“Maybe.” He kisses my lips softly. “Or . . . maybe not.” His lips come down on mine again, lingering longer this time.

“If soul mates are real, I want you to be mine,” I whisper against his lips. And I do; I really, truly do. Maybe that’s what that feeling is we keep feeling . . . that spark, that heart-jump, that odd recognition. A low groan comes from his throat, and he pulls me even further on top of him, sliding his body down on the couch until he is completely under me. He pulls the blanket over us and finds my lips, kissing me hungrily. His hands slowly roam my body, giving me time to get used to his touch. Turning us both on our sides, he lifts my leg over his waist, his hand sliding down my outer thigh to my ass, pressing my body against his so I can feel his hard cock through his jeans. My heart rate quickens as I touch the exposed part of his chest, and lower my head to kiss him there.

“Unbutton my shirt,” I hear him whisper, his breathing heavy. With a shaky hand, I undo the remaining buttons of his shirt and push the dark fabric aside, letting my hand roam across his chest and down over his hard toned stomach. My brain and body are fighting a battle . . . my brain saying I’m not ready to go further than this right now and my body saying go, go, GO.

He reaches for me and pulls the hem of my sweater up, and I freeze, that inner battle starting up again.

“I just want to feel you against me. That’s all,” he says reassuringly, sensing my panic. Leaning up, I let him pull my sweater over my head, and he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight against him. His skin is so warm, even in the cold night air.

Our lips meet again, our hands slowly exploring each other with gentle caresses, our bodies moving against each other in a drowsy rhythm. Winding my hair in his hand, he gently pulls my head back and kisses my neck, moving his lips down to kiss the sensitive flesh between my breasts, his fingers grazing over the edge of my black lace bra. His soft, slow touches and kisses are exactly what I need and want, and somehow he knows this. My eyes flutter closed, and I let myself relax into his touch, bowing my head down to kiss the top of his head as his lips and tongue roam my chest. His hair is soft and silky against my lips, and smells of sage. He is so easy to get lost in. He ignites all of my senses, awakens all my desires, and calms my fears and insecurities. He is quickly finding his way into my heart.