His words taunt me. He’s still angry. Angry and passionate and full of lust.

It’s always been this way with him, but another layer has formed.

Love.

Dale’s love.

And mine.

My climax has transcended to another level. Another whole plane, where only Dale and I exist. The two of us—our bodies, hearts, and souls morphed together into one. One ultimate being made of love and light.

And darkness.

Always the darkness with Dale.

I embrace it. I embrace all that is the man I love.

And with the next climax, I soar even higher.

“Fuck, Ashley,” he says again. “Fuck it. I love you!” He slams into me just as I break into one last orgasm.

Together we soar across the sky, lighter than air.

“I love you too,” I cry. “I love you so much!”

Our love floats around us, the color of soft pink. It covers everything else—the burgundy, the green, the red, and the black.

For one single moment, the blush of our love takes over.

I meet Dale’s gaze. Strands of blond hair stick to his forehead and cheeks with perspiration. I push one back over his forehead and then trail my fingers over his strong jawline.

His lips are parted, and they tremble a bit. Only a bit.

“I love you,” I say softly.

He closes his eyes and inhales, as if he’s savoring my words. Then he opens them, and his eyes are green fire. “I love you too. God help me, but I do. I love you so damned much.”

He rolls off me and then onto his back, his legs dangling off the side of the bed. He stares at the ceiling, his lips still parted.

I snuggle up next to him and breathe in the scent of him mingled with the musky fragrance of our lovemaking.

“Will you be here in the morning?” I can’t help asking.

“Yes,” he says. “I promised you two months. I’ll give you two months.”

I sigh and kiss his shoulder. It’s not what I ultimately want, but it’s something. It’s more than he was willing to offer even yesterday.

I’ll take it, I say to myself.

And even as I drift off to sleep, I try not to think about how difficult it will be to leave him in November. Already I feel as though I’ve lost a piece of my heart.

My phone buzzes at six a.m.

For a moment, I’m disoriented. Then I remember. I’m in Dale’s bed. At Dale’s place. And…

“Damn it!” I say out loud.

I’m alone in this big bed once more.

Anger rushes through me. But no time for that. I scurry into my clothes. I have to get back to the main house and get ready for work.

I should have known better than to trust Dale Steel.

Was he lying when he said he loved me as well?

I stomp out the door of his bedroom and down the hallway. I’m breathing hard, the rage pumping through me. Then I smell…

Bacon? Eggs? I turn into the kitchen, and—

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

Dale’s dreamy Syrah-laced drawl wraps me in warmth. He’s standing at the cooktop, bare-chested and glorious, wearing only lounge pants. My breath catches at his gorgeousness.

“You’re here,” I can’t help saying.

“Where else would I be?”

Myriad answers to his question exist, but I exercise control over my snark. He promised me he’d be here, and he is. Not only that, he’s making breakfast.

“I poured your juice.” He nods to the table.

Sure enough, a tall glass of OJ awaits me. “Thank you.” I pick it up and take a sip.

“Not fresh squeezed,” he says. “We don’t get a lot of fresh oranges here in the fall. Sorry.”

“It’s delicious.”

“Getting used to concentrate?” he asks.

“Contrary to your apparent belief, I drink a lot of concentrate at home. It’s cheaper.”

“You don’t juice your own?”

I take another sip. “Don’t own a juicer.”

He turns toward me, his eyebrows raised. “Really? A Cali girl like you?”

“I’m not a vegetarian, either, as you’ve probably noticed. And clearly I have no problem poisoning myself with alcohol.”

He smiles a little at that one. “You probably know all the health benefits of wine.”

I nod. “I live by them.”

He turns back to the cooktop. “How do you like your eggs?”

“However you like them is fine. I’m not picky.”

He looks over his shoulder. “I want to know how you like them, Ashley. I want to make them for you.”

I smile. Who are you and what have you done with Dale Steel? I say only, “That’s sweet of you. Scrambled, please.”

“You got it.”

A few minutes later, a plate of eggs, bacon, and whole wheat toast slides in front of me.

“Thank you.”

“Just wait.” He gestures to a mason jar. “Try some of that on your toast.”

“What is it?”

“Try it and see.” He pushes the jar toward me.

The color is a lovely smoky orange. I spread some of the jam on my toast and take a bite.

“Oh my God!” I say with my mouth full. Lively peach scatters over my tastebuds, followed by cinnamon, cloves, and something I can’t quite identify. I let it sit for a moment, tasting the jam as if I were tasting wine. It’s pepper. Subtle pepper. Maybe white pepper?

“I take it you approve?” Dale says.

I chew my toast and swallow. “That’s delicious. Did you make it?”

“Not guilty,” he says. “That’s Aunt Marj’s creation. Her spiced peach preserves from last season. She hasn’t made this year’s batch yet.”

“I doubt she can improve on this.” I take another bite and swallow more quickly this time. “Is that really white pepper I’m tasting?”

“It’s crushed pink peppercorns, actually,” he says. “The flavor is similar, but they aren’t actually true peppercorns. They’re berries from the Brazilian pepper tree. The taste is lighter.”

“Pink pepper, huh? Is there anything you don’t know about spices and cooking?”

“Not a lot. The pink is a more subtle flavor that doesn’t overwhelm the peaches and other spices. It just adds a light zing.”