I just wanted to say 'thank you' to everyone who has read, reviewed, and favorited this story. There truly aren't words to express how much I appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you thought of my idea of Jack and Phryne's journey. I apologize for not saying this sooner, but ffnet's formatting hates me (and it is mutual) and I already had all the chapters uploaded. The manners my mother so assiduously beat into me finally kicked in, though, and so here are my deepest, most sincere thanks to you. And, now that I've blubbered, I present the final chapter. Enjoy!


Apparently, hashing out the emotional issues of love, loss, relationships, and the inner workings thereof worked up quite an appetite, because they both demolished their food (lukewarm though it was) with indecent haste. As Phryne finished her last bite, their waiter appeared with a dessert menu. She was tempted but Jack shook his head and requested the check, his eyes never leaving hers.

After he'd put the bill on his account, looking both surprisingly nervous and unusually intense, Jack offered to escort Phryne to her room. She gave him a sweet smile for his chivalry and accepted, resting her hand delicately in the crook of his arm. The walk was silent, but not uncomfortable . . . although the heightened awareness between them was positively delicious. A quick glance up told her that Jack was not immune to the feeling and she smiled with sensual anticipation.

She was so focused on not climbing him like a ladder that their arrival at her door took her completely by surprise and she nearly walked into it. Jack steadied her with a hand at the small of her back and they both went still at the feel of his flesh touching hers. In an effort to ease the tension, Phryne looked up him with a deprecating laugh, only to have her breath catch in her throat. His eyes had gone black with desire and he was taking the kind of deep, controlled breaths that she'd only ever seen on those who were at the absolute limit of their endurance.

(Come on, Jack. Just one gaudy night.

If you really want a Roman soldier . . .

. . . then I'll take it from here)

They stood there for an eternity of desire before Phryne broke it by fumbling to unlock and open the door (it was that, or take him on the floor, which would murder not only her back but one of a very select few items of clothing she intended to wear again). Jack said nothing and made no effort to move away from her, deliberately letting the heat of passion build – and it was, quite simply, one of the most enticing things she'd ever felt.

At which point, the door finally came open and nearly spilled her to the floor. Jack followed in one smooth motion, keeping her on her feet by curling a hand around the back of her neck and sealing his mouth to hers. The sensation was so electrifying that Phryne actually thought she heard a bomb go off – until a heavy thud made her realize that Jack had kicked the door closed.

Moaning deeply, she tangled her hands in his perfectly-arranged hair, delighting at finally being able to dishevel him, and kissed him back with a passion that left them both breathless. A few seconds later, Jack had pressed her against a wall and was sliding both hands into her own thick black strands, holding her still so he could map every inch of her mouth. Reveling in the sheer joy of being able to touch him as she'd wanted for so, so long, Phryne skimmed a hand down to cup his cheek; the feel of his mouth moving against her palm was beyond erotic and she swallowed his approving moan.

Panting, he broke away and dropped his head to nuzzle the hollow of her shoulder as she played with the hair at the nape of his neck. Her reward was a full-bodied shudder and moist, hot kisses being mouthed up her throat. Gasping in delight, Phryne let her head fall back against the wall as she grabbed his upper arms in a desperate attempt to remain standing. A husky laugh made her shiver again, before he caught her earlobe in his teeth and gave a not quite gentle tug, which earned him a keening cry of pleasure.

A gentle kiss was feathered after the bite and then he drew back, looking at her like she was the sun and he was a blind man given sight. Desire had heated his eyes to a brilliant amber and they were so full of love that Phryne thought she could drown in it. In him. It was too much and not enough and so Phryne did the only thing she could: she drew him into her arms and just held him, murmuring soft 'I love yous' into his ear, his hair, the corner of his mouth, everywhere she could reach, until he took a single shuddering breath and released her with obvious reluctance.

Smiling with satisfaction at the sight of his hair falling in strands over his forehead, she rubbed her thumb across his jaw and whispered his name, aching with need. His eyes went almost gold and he leaned back in, kissing her so deeply her knees turned to sand, only to pull back when she reached for him – but only as far as the length of a breath. As their hearts began to beat in tandem, their shared need fed their anticipation until the air itself sizzled. Jack suddenly leaned in and brushed his hot breath over her lips. But he didn't touch her, and Phryne's tenuous control audibly snapped. Lunging forward, she curled her leg over his hip and twined her arms around his neck, taking his mouth with her own fierce demand. He willingly submitted and she pressed even closer, trying to touch him everywhere but only succeeding in further enflaming them both.

Until the feel of a hand on her calf jarred her out of the moment. It was a split-second hesitation and the sensation was already fading, but Jack broke their kiss and backed away from her so quickly she staggered. With a muttered oath, he caught her shoulder to steady her and then took another step back, looking stricken.

"Jack," Phryne objected, reaching out as her body cried out at the loss of him.

"No, I'm – I just need a minute," he stuttered, looking everywhere but at her. Frowning, she studied his expression, trying desperately to understand how 'making love against the wall' had so quickly degenerated into 'a distance of three feet must be maintained at all times.' Unless . . .

"Jack," she said softly, but firmly. He paused before looking at her, and the guilt on his face was the confirmation she needed.

"It's all right, love," she told him with complete sincerity. "It didn't happen, you did nothing wrong, and I most definitely want this," she finished, willing him to believe her. Her heart sank when he shook his head and backed up another step.

"If that were true, Phryne, you wouldn't have flinched," he replied in a voice thick with shame. She had no answer for that, because her reaction had been a complete surprise to her, and mentally cursed when he took her silence for agreement.

"I should go," he told her quietly, reluctantly, before starting to the door. She took a half-step after him, his name falling from her lips in a soft plea, and he paused. They stood in that tableau for what seemed like forever before Jack took a sudden sharp breath and spun on his heel, his eyes glittering with unexpected grief . . . and a violence that alarmed her even though she knew full well it wasn't meant for her.

Which begged the question.

"What is it?" she asked gently, her worry spiking at his involuntary wince. "You look like you're about to do physical harm to someone, but that's not your style." Stony silence was her answer and Phryne had a split second (or four) of doubt, but carried on. This was definitely important. "Come on, Jack," she coaxed, shifting a small step closer to him. "Your reaction is — well, I'm not going to say it's an overreaction, but clearly something is going on," she concluded, easing another few inches in his direction.

His silence did not get less stony, which pulled an actual frown from her. Once he'd put forth the first foot with regards to a friendship with her, by confessing both his attraction to her and his marriage — and once she'd proven her understanding of and respect for both — he had shown himself more likely to confess personal matters than police business (a situation, it must be said, that she found both amusing and frustrating in equal measure). So this cold, unyielding silence was unnerving. It stood to reason that whatever was wrong was related to the 'police' side of things, but what they'd just been doing had most assuredly NOT been professional.

(the betting pool at City South aside, of course)

A defeated sigh broke her train of thought and she looked expectantly at her inspector, offering him a supportive smile despite her worry . . . and her burning curiosity. A bitter – well, she couldn't really call it a 'laugh' – met her smile before he abruptly started talking.

And Phryne Fisher found herself rendered speechless for the first time in – oh, however the hell long it had been.

It spilled out of him in a rush of vicious self-loathing: indirectly finding out that Nelson had been with her at the time of the raid; his savage approval at seeing the damage done to the other man; the horrified realization of what his state of undress had to mean; the sheer, unbridled rage that came within a hairsbreadth of killing the bastard; the unexpected but despicably welcome offer that his fellow officers had made; and finally, his unwilling return to sanity and the knowledge that he had no choice but to let her attacker live.

Aching for him, Phryne only realized that she was wrapped in his arms when he was done laying his soul at her feet and the feel of his chest moving against her back tapered off. Silence reigned in the absolute stillness of the room. Phryne felt no revulsion at Jack or his revelations, but seeing the guilt and recrimination he was drowning in, she didn't dare say so. In his current state, it would do nothing but push him away, because he wouldn't let himself trust her feelings, and – damn!

That's why her flinch had sparked such a powerful reaction!

He thought she was secretly traumatized by Nelson's attack and since his touch had triggered the response, it followed that she must be afraid of him. Had the situation been less dire, she would have rolled her eyes in exasperation at the thought processes of the male mind. But it wasn't, and sorrow was the overriding emotion she was currently feeling, because this wasn't something she could soothe. All she could offer was understanding and hope it would be enough to break through Jack's well-fortified wall of self-loathing.

She started to pull away from him but reconsidered after a moment's thought. Her touch might be the only thing that kept him grounded in the here-and-now with her. Instead, she laid her hand over his and absently started caressing his wrist while she quietly said, "Do you remember Yvonne Standish, Jack?"

There was a startled beat of silence before she felt him nod, his chin brushing her hair.

"And do you remember how she lured you out to that apple grove with the intention of making you her final sacrifice for her demon summoning?"

The silence was longer this time, and tense.

"When I realized what she was after – and who – I followed you out there, hoping, praying the entire time that I wouldn't be too late. And when I saw you, unconscious, bloody, and tied to that tree . . . the only thing that kept me from tearing her heart out with my bare hands was Hugh. I don't think he knows that, but by getting between us, he saved her life. It was a near thing," she admitted softly. "But I was terrified for you, so she got a reprieve."

This time the pause was hers, as she fought to control her emotions. Behind her, Jack was perfectly still. He could have been a marble statue but for the heat emanating from him.

"But I promise you, Jack, that if she had succeeded, no power on this earth would have stopped me from taking her life in payment for yours."

His voice breaking, her lover breathed her name.

She swallowed hard before continuing. "And yes, Jack, it's the exact same thing. You aren't the only one who's allowed to be protective, or to get angry when the people you love are threatened. I'm sure you recall Murdoch Foyle."

A jerky nod accompanied the sudden tension in his frame and her hands were engulfed in his tight grip.

"Do you know why I didn't stab him through his non-existent heart?" she asked, the memory filling her voice with bitterness. "It wasn't because you ran in like the guardian angel you are, and it wasn't because I knew Jane was still alive. I didn't kill him because the one thing he feared more than anything else was a common, meaningless death. And I knew that you and I would make sure he got one."

Phryne closed her eyes against his anguished moan, but when he dropped his head to hers and she felt a cool wetness, it was too much. She turned in his arms and leaned against him, taking his strength and offering her own while her tears mingled with his.

They stayed like that for what must have been forever before Jack finally shifted back a bit, enough that he could look into her eyes, and he did just that as his hands fell to her waist. The emotional revelations had exhausted her, but Phryne still found the strength to hope that it had been enough. When she met his gaze, her heart lifted, because that overwhelming darkness was gone. There were still shadows – and always would be, for Jack, too, had things that would permanently haunt him – but the self-hatred was fading, as was the guilt.

Abruptly realizing that they'd been staring at each other in total silence for going on – well, too long, Phryne endeavored to bring them back to an even keel by wryly observing, "Good heavens. We've just broken a record."

Jack's eyes darkened with confusion as he tilted his head and she smiled as she delivered the punchline. "We've just spent five minutes without bickering about . . . well, anything. Do you think Hugh would faint if he knew?"

His laughter was a balm to her soul, for it was light and held only the faintest traces of bitterness, and she laughed with him, cuddling close and simply enjoying the feeling of him holding her. But too soon, he shifted and pulled out of her arms. Phryne bit back her protest and instead looked at him expectantly. The crooked smile that she always wanted to kiss right off his face greeted her and he brushed her hair back with gentle fingers.

"You are the most amazing woman," he said with such tender understanding that she wanted to cry. "And it shouldn't, but knowing you're a tigress when it comes to the people you love really does help. But we both need to come to terms with what happened today, that much is clear," he continued before she could even think to say anything. "And we've proven in a rather spectacular fashion that it should not be done together. Else we'll bring down the building."

Phryne wanted so badly to argue – but what Nelson had tried had obviously deeply affected Jack as well as herself, and she knew all too well that trying to ignore that kind of response was a recipe for disaster. Until she – they – came to terms with the day's events, they wouldn't be able to go forward.

So she nodded with a reluctance that Jack matched, and his smile turned regretful. "So I'm going while I still can, and we'll talk tomorrow."

"All right," she whispered, stepping completely away from him. He watched her intently for another minute or so before nodding and grabbing the doorknob. "Tomorrow," he promised huskily before stepping into the hall.

To her surprise, he didn't pull the door shut behind him, so she walked over to do it herself, frowning in bewilderment – only for Jack to storm back in, kiss her with an aching, breathtaking passion, and whisper, "I love you," into her mouth. He was gone before she could think of moving and Phryne stared blankly at the now-closed door for several minutes before rousing herself with a brisk shake of her head and wandering slowly around the sitting room.

She was bitterly disappointed that they weren't making love tonight . . . but just as she knew her detective inspector inside and out, so too did he know her. And loathe though she was to admit it, he was right: even if it was subconscious, the assault had apparently rattled her.

'Assault.' Phryne let out a soft, harsh laugh. There she went, proving Jack's point. It wasn't just an assault. Nelson had tried to rape her. That thrice-cursed, miserable bastard had tried to rape her. He'd been going to take her body without her permission and enjoy it, and she couldn't have prevented it.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she let the realization sink in and Phryne collapsed into a chair, hunching over as small shivers wracked her frame. She'd refused to admit, even to herself, just how close Nelson had come and the knowledge made her nauseous. Swallowing hard, Phryne sat up straight and poured a glass of water, draining it in two long swallows. For just a moment she wanted Jack, but in the next second she was grateful he'd gone: had he witnessed this, it would have devastated him and she might have lost him for good.

Recognition of that fact solidified her determination: Wayne Nelson hadn't succeeded earlier and she'd be damned if she let him win now.

Phryne had helped more than a few rape victims during the war and she had seen some of them start on the road to recovery, so she knew that the first step was recognizing what had actually happened. Pouring herself another glass of water, she moved to the chaise by the window and, after curling up in the corner and taking a few sips, she stared with unseeing eyes at the moonlit night and let herself remember.

It was brutal, the recollection. But by remembering, she achieved acceptance, because she wasn't in that room anymore. She'd gotten out, he hadn't succeeded, and he couldn't touch her again. On every level, Phryne had won. She'd found Iris, she'd stopped a slave ring, she and Jack were in love and they had both (finally) actually acknowledged it . . . God help her, she might actually owe Nelson a 'thank you' note.

It was definitely macabre, but the thought made her giggle and just like that, she knew it would be all right. It had been a horrifying, frightening experience, and it might take some time to fully assimilate, but she was the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher and she'd never given into fear in her life, not when facing Murdoch Foyle, nor when she was elbow-deep in the worst that the war could throw at her. Wayne Nelson certainly wasn't going do it.

A glance at the clock told her it was after two and a wave of exhaustion washed over her. Smiling, feeling a different kind of peace settle over her, Phryne rose and stretched, then carefully removed her new favourite gown, Seeing the many places it was crumpled from Jack's hands widened her smile to an extremely satisfied grin. She'd let him have tonight, but tomorrow . . .

Well. She felt rather sorry for the people in the rooms immediately adjacent to hers.


Jack woke irritatingly early the next morning, somewhat disoriented and not particularly well-rested. It took him a few minutes to remember why he was sprawled alone on a decadently-comfortable bed, but once he did, sorrow, anger, and regret bloomed in concert in his heart. In the warm light of a brilliant morning, he had to wonder at his stupidity in leaving Phryne last night. God knew, it had taken every last ounce of control he had left (and a few from next week), but he simply hadn't been able to believe that she truly wanted sex not even twenty-four hours after nearly being —

The reminder made bile rise in his throat and he tried to swallow it down, only to end up pouring a glass of water from the carafe on the side table and downing it like a shot of whiskey. He'd come to terms with the assault itself the previous night (which, surprisingly, hadn't proved all that difficult. Maybe it was because he was used to her being in danger of one sort or another.). What Nelson had been going to do . . . he passionately did not want to acknowledge it. But if he didn't face it now, he never would . . . and that meant he would never truly have her.

Even with that knowledge, it still took him two more glasses and nearly an hour to actually finish the thought.

Phryne had almost been raped. That thrice-damned, sadistic bastard had put his hands on her against her will, with the intention of taking what she would never had given him, and only the loyalty of her companion and the grace of God had prevented it.

Once again, Jack regretted that he had been prevented from snapping Nelson's worthless neck with his bare hands. Oh, it wasn't like the man wouldn't hang, but the mere fact that he was alive and breathing the same air as Phryne was still enough to send fury pounding through his blood.

. . . and that was not a healthy train of thought to pursue, given that he had been in a berserker's rage not all that long ago. Jack shook his head, pushing those considerations aside, and headed for the bathroom. It was done, it was over, and he had more important things to think about.

While he indulged in a long shower, Jack finally let himself start to imagine what being with Phryne – and not just physically – would be like. How they would interact on a truly personal level, what her household would do, how work would change . . . what making love to her would be like . . .

When the tension had drained from his muscles (and the water was still hot, a fact that he made a note to commend the hotel on), he dried, shaved, and started to dress. He was in the middle of knotting his tie when a mental image of Phryne's expressive eye roll stopped him. He could hear her voice – Really, Jack? A 3-piece suit, tie, coat, and hat when you aren't going anywhere? – and had to laugh at himself. It was part of his armour, being fully dressed and completely buttoned up, and while she might enjoy (might? Would positively relish) removing those layers, he didn't think that would be the case tonight. Which was fair, he supposed. He honestly couldn't say he'd be thrilled if she put on four layers of clothes for no reason.

So the tie came off, as did the waistcoat, and he hesitated for a few minutes before rolling his sleeves up to mid-forearm. It was the most casually he'd been dressed in public for some time, and it did feel a little odd. Good, but odd.

A quick glance at the clock told him it wasn't quite ten, so Phryne likely wouldn't be up yet. Jack desperately wanted to see her, but wasn't nearly stupid enough to wake her. Instead, he grabbed the room key and headed out to get breakfast and see what amenities the hotel offered. To his disappointment, his options were a small garden maze and a moderate-sized pool. Choosing to meander through the gardens distracted him for a bit, but like virtually every other man on earth, more than ten minutes of looking at flowers was threatening to bore him into a coma, so he headed to the pool and, with a deep sigh, settled himself on a lounge that was partially shaded. Jack found a comfortable position, leaned back, and let himself drift, not thinking about anything in particular and finally, finally starting to relax.

His senses suddenly sparked and he smiled. Phryne was there. Without opening his eyes, he held out his hand and waited, his smile widening when he felt her take it and settle beside him on the cushion.

"Good afternoon, Jack," she greeted him softly, squeezing his fingers. He returned the pressure and murmured, "And you," before finally looking at her, drinking in the sight of her beloved face and struggling to truly grasp the knowledge that all he had to do was ask.

She was watching him with a tenderness that took his breath away and suddenly, the temptation of her mouth was too much to withstand. Gently, giving her plenty of time to move away if she chose, Jack pulled his hand free of hers and tangled it in that luxurious black hair. He encountered no resistance as he drew her to him and their lips touched in a soft meeting of joy, relief, happiness, and banked passion.

After a few minutes, she eased back and they both drew in unsteady breaths, still watching each other. Jack was opening his mouth to say – something, he didn't know what, when Phryne, her eyes smoky with desire, bent down and captured his lips once more with an unrestrained yearning. His own passion broke free and as his craving for her heated his blood, he tugged her closer, wanting to crawl inside her and never let go. It seemed she was of the same mind, because her hand suddenly landed dangerously high on his leg, those dexterous fingers trailing fire in their wake, and he snapped. It was only a brief glimpse of the pool water that kept him from doing something stupid, like make love to her there and then, and he managed to push her away with shaking hands.

Phryne looked astonished, even as she fought to control her breathing.

"Jack . . ."

"Unless you want me to take you on this lounge, we need to adjourn to a room. Now."

This earned him a blink . . . and then a slow, wicked smile.

"Why, Inspector, I would never have guessed that you might be an exhibitionist."

It said a great deal about his life that Jack couldn't even pretend to be surprised at this . . . though it wouldn't do to let her think she had the upper hand.

"Well, Miss Fisher, I distinctly recall telling you it would be foolish to assume you'd deduced everything about me," he drawled, slowly sitting up. As she moved not an inch, this more-or-less plastered them against each other.

Perfectly willing to play the game, she gave him a saucy wink.

"So you did. Well, then, as I'd like to avoid giving your constable a heart attack —"

"I'd feel better if I thought you were being facetious."

(and how he wished he was joking)

"— did you have anything more specific in mind than 'a room?'" she purred, her eyes wide with what an unsuspecting person would have taken for innocence.

For Jack, however, this had been one of the many things he'd given serious thought to the night before.

"Given you came with an entourage, yes. Mine," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

"Jack! I like the way you think."

"The way I think. Yes, that's what you like," he said with a fair amount of justifiable sarcasm, given that he was currently shackling both of her wrists with his free hand, lest she start undressing him again (the top two buttons of his shirt had mysteriously come open). He didn't have anywhere near enough self-control for that. The Pope didn't have enough control to withstand that.

"Well. One thing," she conceded easily, giving him a smouldering once-over that made him swallow. Desperate now, he grabbed the fraying threads of his control and sent God (and her) a heartfelt plea.

"Phryne. I . . . I have wanted this – you – longer than I should admit, but if you don't step back now, we will both be arrested for more indecency charges than can be counted. Please, love, have mercy on me for another five minutes. Then you may do with me as you will."

God help him, she actually pouted, lower lip and all. He wanted to bite it so badly it hurt.

"Promise?" she asked coquettishly, batting her eyelashes. But there was vulnerability in her eyes, though it was almost hidden behind the lust they were both drowning in. He couldn't ignore it, especially after yesterday, and so answered her as the man who loved her rather than the man who would be her lover.

"With every fiber of my being."

That seemed to ease her fears and earned him another wicked smile . . . coupled with another look of wide-eyed 'innocence.' He was immediately suspicious.

"In that case, Inspector Robinson, lead the way."

For good reason. Knowing Phryne, she'd start undressing in the hall and one of two things would happen: he would take her against the wall in front of God and everyone, or she'd be seen in a state of advanced undress and he'd be forced to put that man in hospital (which would lead to him being arrested and spending some considerable time in gaol, and make being alone with her a tad difficult).

"I'd rather escort you. For some unfathomable reason, Miss Fisher, I don't trust you."

A smile played on her lips as she shrugged.

"Probably wise," she conceded.

"A rarity with you," he shot back, basking in the sheer joy of bantering with her again. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it.

"And you love it," she stated with complete assurance, putting her hands on her hips.

"God help me, I do. But – somewhere more private, if you please, Miss Fisher," he requested formally, even as he gave her his own wicked smile.

"Oh, fine," she huffed. "But one day, Jack, I am going to make you crack."

Suddenly, he was the one standing too close, deadly serious as he grasped her shoulders.

"Indeed. And what if I were to tell you, Phryne Fisher, that that day arrived the moment I came through that door?"

He saw the remembrance in her eyes: him hesitantly entering the bathroom where she was trying to erase the stains of an unimaginably horrifying ordeal. The olive branch she had so carefully offered, his fearful skittishness in accepting it, the awareness that had settled in his chest at the understanding that if he was hers, she was his, and that wonderful feeling of finally coming home.

He nodded at her unspoken question; oh, yes, he remembered. As long as he drew breath, he'd never forget that life-saving realization. She gave him a soft smile and took his hand, clasping it between both of hers and bringing it to her lips, nuzzling his palm before placing a tender kiss on the pulse point at his wrist. Jack forgot to breathe.

"In that case, Jack Robinson, I would say 'why are we still a) outside and b) talking?'"

And they were back to playful – but Jack was done with the game. Still, she deserved an answer to that, especially since he had walked away last night.

"As always, Miss Fisher, you ask very good questions," he said with a serious edge to his voice, despite the light-hearted words. "As for the answers, I can only say that I was trying to be a gentleman."

That surprised her, he could tell, and the realization hurt. He had a sudden, overwhelming desire to find the man who had frightened her so badly and drop him in a pool of sharks . . . after cutting him a few (hundred) times with a razor. Not that he would say anything; Phryne didn't want to be protected and he understood that. He didn't particularly like it (which, in return, she recognized), but that was what compromise was all about. They'd make it work.

"Jack —"

Her admonishment recaptured his attention and he smiled wryly at her, finishing his initial thought.

"Until I realized that I was only causing us both unnecessary grief. And, because the heavens would fall if you let me lead, you came to me first."

He waited a beat before continuing, hoping to bring back her smile.

"Then we proceeded to have this rather ridiculous conversation."

He didn't get his smile; no, it was so much better than that. He got her everything.

"Oh, come now, Jack. Haven't you heard of foreplay?"

His breath caught in his throat at the blatant seduction in her voice and the love shining from her eyes, and he gave her the only answer he could.

"My room. Now."

And as they entered the hotel, hand in hand with their fingers entwined, Jack had a sudden, intense vision of their future. Phryne would exasperate, captivate, and enchant him (likely on an hourly basis); he would frustrate, fascinate, and adore her (also likely on an hourly basis), and it was . . . it was going to be glorious.

He couldn't wait.

* * * *
finis