Jack generally considered himself a man who was not easily rattled or fazed; there was not much that genuinely impressed him. He now realized his view of what was deemed ‘impressive’ was not only sorely skewed, but obviously on a whole other level fathoms apart from what he now beheld. As he journeyed down the massive hallway, he could not help but be in awe of the opulence.

Over the course of his career (in espionage and during his brief stint with the DOD), Jack had been in some of the most exclusive hotels in the world. He knew the supremely soothing sensation of what it was to lie atop a mattress so superb it truly felt as if the cushioning had been hand-crafted to accommodate no other body but his. He had imbibed the most vintage of wines from the vineyards of France, Italy, and Spain; spirits crafted in Russia, Scotland, and, yes, the United States. (When not in the field, the Tennessee-manufactured Gentleman Jack was his staple when out of his drink of choice, scotch.) His palate had served as the canvas for the culinary artistry of chefs with skills to rival those bearing the names Legasse, Puck, and Tsai.

In retrospect he could truly say he had experienced the best life had to offer.

But those occurrences were not a constant. He found himself inhabiting worlds that afforded him such experiences once or twice a year at most, and more often than not under the guise of a fictitious persona.

As he stood outside the suite he could not help but be struck by the realization that what so often was fantasy for him was reality to Sabrina. A fearless, defiant, and oftentimes maddening woman whose day to day existence put those past experiences to shame. A woman who hailed from a family whose world, wealth, and power surpassed anything most people could dream of and only a select few could truly comprehend. The same woman who had just so publicly given him her submission; extended to him the one thing that for a woman like her was more fragile than her heart.

Her trust.

It would be inaccurate to infer with that lone act she had re-claimed his heart; that would imply she no longer resided there, that his love for her had waned or ceased. No, such was not the case. And as he once again felt that familiar quickening thrum of his pulse, not just at the prospect of seeing and being with her again, but just at the mere thought of her, Jack knew to the core of his being nothing could be farther from the truth. He gripped the doorknob and turned it, opening the door and entering the suite; effectively stepping into his destiny. With Sabrina.

Jack quietly made his way down the foyer, briefly closing his eyes and allowing the still familiar scent of her perfume—a subtle yet spicy fragrance created by the team of Casadine perfumiers just for her—to invade his senses. Slowly, he opened his eyes, making no attempt to still the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth; it was as if he’d felt her even before he saw her.

And what a vision she was to him. Loosely curled tresses pulled off her face, in almost reverent silence he watched as glass of wine in hand, she gracefully slid out of the Gucci stilettos, padding barefoot across the marble floor to the nearby sofa. The diaphanous skirt and blouse clung to her shapely frame in all the right places. His heart constricted with concern as he noted she’d lost weight—nothing serious, maybe 10 pounds at the most; but noticeable, at least to him—since the last time he saw her.

That had been nearly a year ago.

Had he really gone that long, he marveled, 365 days, without hearing the rhythm of her breaths as she slept, the sound of her voice, or her laugh; without the feel of her touch; or the feel of her, in his arms, her body pressed against his, limbs coiled around his?

All that and more, he’d lost for the better part of a year. And so had she. If at all possible, in that moment, as he expelled the rush of air he didn’t realize he’d been holding since entering the suite, she was more beautiful than he could remember.

Sabrina was in the act of reclining upon the plush sofa, laying back to savor an offering from the Cassadine vineyard when she heard him. He watched as with a slow and deliberate movement she deposited the stemware on the nearby low end table. Rising from the sofa, her tranquil, awe-tinged gaze met his and for several seconds the power of speech eluded him. In that moment all he could do was entertain three thoughts. He loved her. He had never stopped.

And he never would.