That last thought brought forth a smile that had not graced his features in over a year. He knew why. It was a smile belonging to and meant only for her. Still smiling, he said the only thing he could manage at the moment.

“I got your message.”

This was only his third time in her suite. He’d never stayed there; sure, he’d seen it, even been inside, but none of their encounters had ever taken place there, she noted regretfully. Yet suddenly none of that mattered anymore.

All that mattered was now.

Because now was the moment they were face to face. Two lovers who’d been apart for over a year. A man whose ardent gaze said, ‘Yeah. She’s still all I ever wanted. Always will be.’ A woman, thinking the same but also slightly shaken upon realizing, as the songstress Anita Baker declared, “It’s been you all the time. . .”

In the midst of it all, as her feet touched the marble surface and she made her way to Jack on legs that were slightly unsteady Sabrina could only marvel at her own stupidity.

‘And to think I almost lost you...’

“What’s wrong, Babe?”

Babe.

It wasn’t until that very moment Sabrina realized how much she treasured – and had missed – the endearment. As the tears that she had managed to hold at bay now sprang forth in earnest, Sabrina dipped her head.

“Babe, talk to me. . .what’s wrong?” He cradled her face within the warmth of his hands.

“Nothing. I’m okay, really,” she shook her head. “I just. . .” She sighed heavily. “I just so did not want to be ‘that woman.’ You know, the one who dissolves into a puddle of tears, becomes a blubbering mess when she’s reunited with her man.”

Her man.

Jack did not think it was possible for two simple words to have invoked such a strong feeling of pride and possessiveness within him. Or truth. Yes, he was hers. As much as she was his if not more. And there was absolutely nothing else he would rather be. “Don’t be embarrassed or ashamed. You have no reason to be, Babe.” With the most reverent of touches the pads of his thumbs smoothed away the rivulets of moisture from her cheeks. “If I weren’t still in a state of semi-shock, I’d be weeping right now, too,” Jack admitted. He smiled tenderly. “When I look at your tears, your reaction, I see a sign of your love. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Sabrina’s touch continued to linger while her free hand threaded through his hair, cupping the back of his head and drawing his face down to hers; eyes closed she rested her forehead against his and breathed deeply then exhaled. Finally. It was the breath she had held in since her admission to her mother—correction, to herself—she still loved him; a breath she had suspended since she made the decision to “go get her man”; a breath she stilled when, heart in hand, she publicly declared to him for her there was, nor ever would be, no other man. . .all the while knowing he could very well reject her.

Now, she could finally breathe.

She opened her eyes and gazed up into cerulean pools she did not think she’d see again. Her fingers began to tremble anew as they traversed the outline of his mouth once more. Their lazy journey ceased when a low growl fell from Jack’s lips. Sabrina felt the rumble before she heard it. And in that moment, it was almost as if the space between them – filled with raw, primal longing – combusted.

Who grabbed who first was unclear. Their lips met in a kiss that was bruising, demanding. Hungry. They crashed against the wall, their bodies pressed so closely together Sabrina could feel the imprint of the buttons on Jack’s dress shirt through the fabric of her blouse. Frantically, their hands traveled across the planes of each other’s bodies; desperate to cup, tweak, and stroke flesh that had been denied them for far too long.

When Sabrina’s hand snaked between their bodies and nestled between his thighs, ardently stroking the impressive, straining bulge, with an almost super-human resolve Jack gently grasped Sabrina’s wrist and slowly stilled her touch.

“No, Babe,” he murmured as he broke off the kiss. “Not here,” he shook his head. “Not like this.”

“Where?” she gasped. The query was somewhere between a demand and a broken plea. “When??”

“Bedroom,” he answered. His lips claimed hers again as he backed her towards the mammoth room.

Everything from that moment on became a blur.