48.

This time, when he made love to her, Henry lingered over her for hours, holding himself back while he guided Cassy to peak after peak of trembling ecstasy, and then joining her there.

Dawn was already streaking the purple sky with wide pink slices when Henry made love to her for the last time and finally fell into a deep slumber. Cautiously lifting his imprisoning arm from around her waist, Cassy inched forward and slid out from beneath the sheets. Her body, unused to such vigorous lovemaking, felt weak, limp, and deliciously weary as she walked silently around to his side of the bed and picked up her satin dressing gown. Sliding her arms into the sleeves, she wrapped the gown around her, then hesitated, looking down at her husband. His hair was inky against the gleaming whiteness of the pillow, and sleep softened the rugged contours of his tanned face, making him look almost boyish.

The sheet had slid down to his hips, exposing to her view the full expanse of his broad, muscled chest