Her hand grew warmer. Softer.
It was as if the unseen barrier between them was being slowly peeled away.
Her hand no longer felt as though it were made of marble. It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t lifeless.
Hardly daring to breathe, Dean released her fingers to lift his hand to her face. Cupping her cheek in his palm, he brushed his thumb against her lower lip.
Her skin felt flushed, heated. Her lips soft. Tremulous. Damp.
He felt warm breath against his flesh.
He was dizzy. So scared, so hopeful, he was shaking like a leaf.
Very slowly, he lowered his fingertips to her throat.
And felt the pulse beating there, rapid, but steady.
“Dean?” she whispered, and even her voice had changed. She sounded so dose. So startled.
So very real.
She drew back from him and looked down at herself. He followed her gaze. Her white dress was dirty at the hem. He’d never seen dirt on it before. Beneath the lace-trimmed bodice, her small, perfect breasts rose and fell.
Breathing.
“Anna.” He whispered her name, still afraid to accept what seemed to be happening. Knowing it would kill him if he allowed himself to believe, only to find out he’d been mistaken.
She spread her hands in confusion, still looking downward. “I feel—Dean, I’m—”
Impatiently, she shook her head. Her dark hair ruffled against her cheek with the movement. A stray breeze caught a loose strand, tossing it into her eyes. She reached up to brush it back, her movements rather awkward.
“I don’t know what has happened,” she said, looking at him with eyes that shone now with hope, with the anticipation of joy. “But I think—oh. Dean, I think I’m alive. Really alive.”
“Anna!” Unable to hold back any longer, he pulled his injured arm from its supportive sling and reached for her. If there was pain, he ignored it. All he felt was the warmth and softness of her slender body, held tightly against his chest.
Her arms went around his neck. Her mouth locked with his. The kiss was hard. Hot. Shattering.
She broke it off with a gasping sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. “I can feel you,” she cried, pressing more closely against him. “You’re strong and you’re solid and so very, very warm. You feel wonderful!”
“So do you,” he managed to say, his hands running feverishly over her.
Every inch of her felt real. Perfect. Alive.
Alive! The word reverberated in his head. He didn’t know how, but he knew—somehow he knew without doubt—that it was true. Anna was alive. And in his arms. And he was never letting her go.
“I love you,” he said, kissing her roughly, repeatedly. “I love you.”
She returned kiss for kiss, as eager and hungry as he. “I love you,” she said whenever he gave her a chance to speak. “I love you so much.”
“Stay with me. Promise you’ll stay with me.”
“For the rest—” Her voice broke, then steadied. “for the rest of my life,” she vowed. “However long that may be.”
“I love you.” He murmured the words against her lips, then smothered her reply with his kiss.
It was a long time before Anna drew back. “Ian,” she said on a gasp. “I almost—”
Pulling out of Dean’s arms, she whirled. “Ian!” she said, apparently seeing something—someone—Dean did not. “Isn’t it wonderful? Aren’t you—Ian?”