I'm here. I can hardly believe it. A short month ago I fell into Isobel's Lair,
snared by the intrigue of remarkable characters created by an extraordinary man. I wrote a little story, then another and another. It was more than fun. It was exhilarating. And I probably would have been perfectly content to stay the route, write the fantasies. But Izzy had other ideas.

I don't know how it happened, I swear. One minute I was a lonely woman, and the next, the newest resident of Perve World, lovingly ushered through the portal by sweet, talented Sisters I feel like I've known all my life. I sat on my own sofa, in my own house, gin and tonic in hand and simply marveled. At least it felt like my own sofa, my own house. Odd. It looked like the real word, felt like it, but deep in my troubled heart, I knew differently. This is nothing like it. But I kept trying to make it that way. Holding on to what I'm sure of.

For example, even though I knew I didn't need to work any harder than usual, I did. Miraculously, as if called by my desperate need to preoccupy a frightened mind, clients had come out of the woodwork. I'm a restaurant consultant. Until I came to this world, this ex-chef struggled to find clients. Suddenly, there seemed to be a new white-tablecloth restaurant opening on every corner. My mind was fevered with curiosity. Had my imagination created every excuse possible to keep me from moving ahead?

Gin number three and I'd reached the point of no return. Either I go home, or I move ahead. It had been two weeks, and enough was enough. I chose to move ahead, take my taste of the delicious fruit offered, experience the magic and beauty of it all. But where to start? I had no clue. Setting aside my fears that not one of the brothers would be the least bit interested in me, I'm not tall, thin, beautiful, exotic or otherwise special. I sat at my desk and decided to develop a strategy, a plan of action. Since I couldn't (actually wouldn't) choose the one I wanted to begin with I simply scratched all their names on small pieces of paper and tossed them into a hat. I'd move through the Brothers in whatever order fate dictated. I pulled the first name.

***

Izzy's e-mail - Are you sure, hon? That's a tough one to start with; you've read all the diaries, right?

My answer - I'm sure.

Izzy's reply - I suspected, well, someone else. What made you choose this Brother to be your first visit?

My retort - You don't want to know.

Darcy was not quite as gentle. Her e-mail stated - Are you fucking nuts? What are you thinking?

My smiling response - That it's time to jump in to the deep end.

Darcy's closing statement - Just don't drown, shitbird. Good luck.

Standing in the baggage claim at Pittsburgh International, that's exactly how I felt. Like I was drowning. I straightened my collar, smoothed my skirt then shrugged. What did it matter? I was sure I wasn't what he was expecting. I took a deep breath and said under my breath. "Oh hell, it's all about the sex. That's all. I can do this."

I paced at the bottom of the escalator. If he didn't like me, he could leave. And if I didn't like him, I'd just send him back. I could do that, right? If he wanted to be rough, I could handle that. Been there, done that. History, you know, we can't escape it. If I disappointed him . . . I stopped mid-stride. If I disappointed him, oh shit, that would be awful. I pulled at the straining buttons at my chest. Ran a hand over my hair. It's just about the sex, I reinforced. Then I looked up.

My mouth dropped open and I swear I wasn't even breathing. I can't begin to explain the first Perve World, face to face experience. I've never seen the creator in person, terrified that I'd react exactly as I was at that moment. There was no mistaking who he was. Maximus was everything I expected, and nothing I expected. Snug jeans, tight black t-shirt, soft leather jacket. So he looked twenty-first century. But God, I swear, I could see an armor-covered chest and plumed helmet. I don't mean that in a silly movie-buff sort of way. It was just the way he carried himself. Regal. Powerful. Uncompromising.

Maximus glided down the escalator, his eyes roaming the crowd like a stealth bomber seeking his target. Maybe his radar would miss me; maybe I could make myself even smaller than my five-foot-nothing stature and be overlooked completely. If I could move, I'd have run. He stepped off and with long, purposeful strides moved right at little old me.

Jesus, this man was remarkable in every way. His form, his presence, those eyes. His face was stoic and his eyebrows were a tight, concentrated knot. I could actually feel him coming near. The air around him vibrated with energy. "Please, please, pass me by, so I can just run for cover and hide." I prayed. Darcy was dead right. What the hell was I thinking?

And just at the precise moment his broad shoulder was about to pass me he stopped, turned and spoke, his voice so deep it rumbled through my veins. "Little Sister, I have only one bag to claim and we can be on our way."

And just like that, I was obliterated. I looked up, and I mean way up into his face and simply nodded like an idiot.

In the car, Maximus belted in and relaxed, one arm resting on my headrest, now that's the moment I think I really panicked. Shoring myself against a storm of fear threaded with lightening only Max could create, I dropped the keys, my fingers shaking too hard to simply slide them into the ignition, like I do every other stinking day of my life without the least bit of trouble.

Heads clunked and Max chuckled. "Would you like me to drive?"

I shook my head dumbly as he handed me the keys, brushing my sweaty palm with the biggest hand I've ever seen.

On the highway, I was better. Traffic occupied my mind. As we hit the interstate I decided that he was a guest after all, and I should be welcoming. I cleared my throat. "I thought I'd cook dinner tonight, if that's alright with you, Max."

He was watching me, I could feel it. "I understand that you're very good at that."

I blinked. "Well, I love to cook. Especially for someone else. It's so wonderful to prepared food and nourish people. I almost never eat when I'm alone, you know. Don't want to clean up the mess, and besides . . ." Fuck, I was babbling. "Sorry." I turned and looked into his eyes.

"Little Sister, do I make you nervous?"

I returned my attention to the traffic and blinked. See, I'm a shitty liar, I've even given up trying. "Yes." My voice was just a squeak.

He leaned so close I could feel his breath on my red cheek. "It is not my intention."

If I turned to look at him, I'd miss my exit. If I didn't, I'd miss a rare opportunity to see this beautiful man close up. I watched the road. He returned to his own side of the car. "What will you be preparing for the meal, Riley?"

My name. He said my name. What you'd expect to be terrifying was actually comforting and I felt myself relax. "Well, lamb rack, crusted with lemon and tarragon, horseradish potato cakes and asparagus. How does that sound?" Again, I didn't turn. I could have.

"It sounds like a feast."

More relaxed. Still no looking.

"And what will we have for dessert?" His mellow voice was like smooth cream, flowing over me, shocking me. He wanted to talk about that, already?

Okay, I told myself, don't let him see you squirm. It's all about the sex. "What would you like for dessert?" I asked as calmly as my tight throat would allow.

He sighed then rubbed his chin. "I like almonds, Little Sister. I like the flavor of almonds."

I turned to the sweetest smile I've ever seen on a human being. "Almonds it is. I need to stop at the grocery store."

In the store, knowing Maximus was waiting in my car, I ran like a lunatic. I picked up sliced almonds, slivered almonds, amaretto flavored coffee creamer, chocolate almond ice cream and almond paste. Lugging the bag to the car I reminded myself not to let the man see what was in it. Surely he'd think me crazy. I plopped behind the wheel and drove the last mile to my house. "I'll make a toasted almond cake, Max."

My peripheral vision confirmed a nod, but he spoke no words.

His luggage stashed in the guest room, Max settled into my leather love seat and read a book he'd chosen from my collection. Spiritual Emergency, When Personal Transformation Becomes a Crisis. It was an interesting choice, and I admired his quick ability to seek out the most intriguing subject in my library.

Me, I cooked, and I baked, and I kept the kitchen neat. I set the table and polished the wine glasses. Hell, I was in my element. Entertaining. It wasn't until I plated the meal, garnishing it with the most perfect brunois red peppers I'd ever sliced in my life that it occurred to me who I was feeding. I shook it off, carried the plates to the table and poured wine.

"Dinner." I announced, and like any other man I've ever known, Max leaned forward, read one more passage then grunted to the table.

He sat and waited for me to join him. "Excellent." He said, knife in hand. "How long were you a chef?"

I smiled. "A long time. How much do you already know about me?"

He set his fork down. "Some. The Sisters tell us some. We've all been watching your posts on the site. You are an interesting writer, Little Sister. Many of us fear your pen. You have an uncanny ability to find our flaws."

"Is that bad?"

His mouth full, he shook his head. A big swallow. "No. It's just a bit unnerving. We feel that the playing field is uneven. What can you tell me to level that field, Little Sister?"

What could I tell him? Couldn't he see? Just as I was about to blunder my way into a litany of emotional self-abuse, my cell phone rang. It was a frantic restaurateur. The temperamental chef I'd advised her against hiring had just walked out on a booming dinner crowd. I had no choice, did I? I had to leave.

With the best apologies I could give, I quickly changed in to my culinary uniform and left Maximus alone at my dining room table. When I got home well past midnight, he was asleep in the guest room. I sat in the tub soothing aching muscles and cried. Maybe I just didn't belong in this world.

Sunday we had breakfast, then took a drive to the mountains and chatted pleasantly. At least we tried to chat, between my cell phone interruptions. Every call was an emergency; every desperate client had a problem no one else could possibly solve. I was torn between feeling great about my growing business and feeling afraid that Maximus was getting really, really mad. He seemed to be holding back.

I shrugged and decided that we were sort of friends. "Max, you can tell me if you're pissed at me, you know," I said casually.

He turned away, watching the scenery glide past his window. "I have been asked to be gentle with you. But I must say, Little Sister, that you are a frustrating woman."

We were an hour from home. I remained silent until we stepped inside and closed the door. "I'm sorry that I'm a disappointment Maximus, but this is who I am."

He swung around and lowered his face close to mine. "And how would I know if you are a disappointment or not? I have had no opportunity to discover who you are?"

I squared myself, a mouse against the formidable lion. "Are you blind? Look at me Max. You have been with my beautiful Sisters. You have made love to magnificent bodies. You have to be reeling with the responsibility of having to fuck me!"

He straightened and glared down his nose. "Is that what you think?" He took my arm in a vice grip and lead me to the sofa. He knelt at my feet and glared into my face. "Little Sister," he growled. "Your body is far from a disappointment to me. I find it inviting and exciting. It is your mind that infuriates me."

The words "I'm sorry" wanted to fly out of my mouth.

"Don't, woman! Don't even think of saying it." He stood and paced a few steps back, giving me space and a wonderful view of his powerful demeanor. I blinked. I used to be like that. Before I worried over my appearance, before I wondered if I was good enough for the Brothers. Good God, I really need to go home.

"I'm sorry. This was a really bad idea. I really should get out of this while I still can."

His stance softened. "Little Sister. No one wants that, least of all me. Trust me, you belong here. We all want you here." He sat beside me and set a huge, warm hand on my cheek. "It is I who should apologize. I am not a man of words. But I assure you, you are an enticing beauty. And if pride would have permitted, I'd have begged for you the moment I saw you."

I blinked.

The cell phone sang. I pulled myself away from his warm touch and stood. It rang and rang. And I just stood there, wondering how his simple touch and kind words could have fired so much passion inside me. I was trembling, wet. I took a few steps away. What was I so afraid of?

The damn phone rang again. Max leapt to his feet and took it from my hand. "Riley, why did you request me first?"

I couldn't lie to the general, even if I was able to do it well. He looked down at me, his form looming, menacing, and I just told the truth. "Your name came out of the hat first."

Maximus has eyes that can cut an enemy to shreds. He lowered his most lethal gaze, then drew in a deep breath and shook his head. His is not an ego willing to accept such a truth. I stepped back. I could see him restraining, his fists balled, nearly crushing my phone. Then he tilted his head in a fine nod of acquiescence. "Little Sister, I am here, granted by lottery. But I am here. I have confessed my attraction to you. I understand that you may not have the same attraction to me." He swallowed hard.

With the swift kick of reality and a rush of heartache, I suddenly realized that fear of rejection was not exclusive to me.

"And so, my dear Little Sister. With a word from you, I will take my leave. I do not wish to make you nervous any longer."

That fucking phone rang AGAIN. He looked down at it then handed it to me. I took it, but not before setting my hand on his arm, my eyes begging for patience. I looked at the phone and pressed the off button.

Max simultaneously took me into his arms and tossed the phone aside. It skidded and finally landed in the corner with a crack and a thump. His lips found mine and I was absorbed into the massive being that is the General. I had no control, nor did I want it. I had surrendered myself into his power. My fears melted as he carried me to my bed. He made love to every inch of me, every curve, every soft corner. He found all of my weaknesses and proclaimed them glories with his touch, his mouth, his mellow voice. For a man of few words, our Maximus has quite a repertoire of gentle, exquisite verbiage designed to bring any woman, even one like me to a climax of self discovery and joy. His pleasure was sometimes compassionate, even sentimental, and sometimes raw and desperate. And I reveled in all of him. The day Maximus left me, I cried. "No tears, Little Sister. You have nothing to fear or be ashamed of. You are a jewel. No brother will miss that, as long as you give him the opportunity to see it glow."

***

I reached into the hat then slowly unfolded the paper.

Jack Aubrey. Damn.

Jack was an unfamiliar character to me and I didn't even know if I liked him. But he was a Brother, and essentially mine, as I was his within this strange world. It's all about the sex. I told myself with a chuckle, knowing full well it was about far more.

I checked the dashboard clock. Three hours before I had to leave for the airport. Time enough to prep for dinner, shower, dress and pull all my nerves inside for the duration. I had reason to fear Maximus. He is a force to be dealt with carefully and I'd been fully warned. What I feared from Jack was not his power or his volatility, it was simply the fact that I had no clue what to expect.

I climbed out of the car and hung what seemed like a hundred plastic grocery bags on to my hands. I hipped the door closed then turned the corner of my garage, wondering how I'd reach my front door key, hopelessly twisted among the bag handles. My hair was windblown and there was a big coffee dribble down the front of my white t-shirt, remnants of my liquid breakfast, gobbled on the drive to the store. I was so preoccupied with the physical challenges of getting into my house, I never noticed him until he stood from my door stoop. I nearly crashed right into him.

I stumbled back and dropped everything. "Ah, shit!"

"Forgive me for startling you, Little Sister." He scrambled to retrieve a rolling can of hearts of palm.

Again I was stuck dumb, but this time only for a moment. Jack Aubrey. It was him. Real and solid. Jack gathered up groceries and I just watched. His hair glowed golden, loose and falling over his crisp pressed, linen covered shoulders. Those gorgeous shoulders. He smiled with twinkling blue eyes and shoved celery and a whole chicken into bags he now twisted on his own fingers. I swallowed. Jack Aubrey. Damn.

"My lady." He hadn't, but I could have sworn that he'd bowed low.

"Jack. What are you doing here?"

"Please forgive me. I took an early flight. I was eager to arrive."

I struggled with the key and finally opened the door. We dragged in the groceries and stacked them on the table. I began to put them away, while nervously loading the dishwasher with dishes left on the counter from last night's dinner. "Shit," I mumbled under my breath.

Jack took the cup from my hand and placed it in the rack. "My lady, please, rest. I'll do this if you feel it needs to be done."

I plopped into a chair and rubbed my eyes. I really needed to start spending time with men from my own century. I just didn't know what to do with these guys. I envisioned Cort's name to be the next out of the hat. But these pre-twentieth century fellows definitely do wonders for my self confidence. My small curvy figure seemed as interesting to Jack as it had been to Max. With every plate he set in the dishwasher, his eyes wondered to my coffee adorned breast.

"Jack, no," I chucked. "That doesn't need to be done right now. I'm sorry. Please, sit."

His smile was radiant. He joined me at the table and I opened a bag of chips into which he'd immediately buried a big hand. "Little Sister," he spoke between crunches. "I have no issue with finishing the job at hand."

Jack Aubrey. Damn. What a sweetheart.

"No, no. It's just that you surprised me, that's all. See, I thought I had time to straighten up the house and clean myself . . ." His eyes were glued to the coffee stain.

"Little Sister," his eyes finally raised to mine and he leaned close with a wicked grin. His voice dropped a full decibel. "I care little about your house. And I think you look delicious."

I laughed aloud. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Only if I may lap it from your beautiful breasts, my lady."

And so we played. He was funny and entertaining. Jack was an insatiable lover, a kind adviser, and a gentle friend. He was a tender teacher who moved and thought with efficiency and style. I was fully impressed. I didn't care much that I knew nothing of him; I was learning everything I needed to know. Never again will you hear me say the words, 'it's all about the sex'.

The night before he left was the first and only time Jack really pissed me off. He lay half-naked and easy across my bed, his scarred chest bared and excruciatingly beautiful, his head propped on his fist. I was fussing, fretting over which dress to wear to the restaurant. I kept changing my mind. The red made my hips look huge, the blue showed too much cleavage. The black was too short and I didn't have the right shoes for the silver.

Jack expelled a loud sigh and thumped his head onto the bed. "Max warned me about this." He groaned. "How many of us will it take to convince you, my lady, that you are perfect?"

I swear I saw red. "What did you say? Are you saying I'm a fucking whore looking for approval from the Brothers?" I stomped to him, hands on hips, furious tears in my eyes. "And what the fuck right does Max have to tell you anything? What kind of man are you, telling me . . ."

Battle wary Jack slowly sat up and placed his feet flat on the floor. "Little Sister . . ."

"And I have a name, you pompous prick!" I don't know what the hell came over me; I was in a full blown rant.

He stood, hands up, intense eyes focused on mine. "Please, calm yourself. I meant no disrespect to you at all . . . Riley."

My heart stopped. The sound of my name, dry and calculated, falling from those beautiful lips was devastating. I stepped back; sure I'd crossed some barrier I never should have even approached. He lunged forward and took my arms in hand before I could slip away. "We talk, my lady. We share information. It is not meant to upset you, but it is fact."

"Do you talk about . . . everything?"

He nodded solemnly.

"Even how I am in bed?"

He blinked.

"And on the table, the stairwell, in the tub?"

Silence.

How could Max do such a thing? The diaries are one thing, the personal baring of the soul, the passion we feel is meant to be shared for pleasure and release. But this! "So, it's like a big locker room over there." I swallowed back embarrassment so profound I wanted to die. Really and truly die, right there in the middle of the room.

He lowered his face to my level. Jack was as tall as Max, but had less of a problem making himself appear smaller. "Little Sister. I am sorry if this offends you. All of the Sisters are important to us. We want to please. We read your diaries, and we discuss our own experiences. We do it to better prepare . . . to please you."

I fell into the hole. You know the one I mean. That hole that is always just around the corner. Depression. I should furnish the fucking hole; I spend so much time there. The hole is lined with elegantly framed phrases.

"What have I done wrong?"

"How could I have done it better?"

"Jack doesn't really think I'm beautiful, he's just following Maximus' lead."

"He only touched me that way because another man told him I liked it."

And the framed statements went on and on. Several hours later I was beyond tears and poor Jack was at his wits end. He'd made several phone calls. Then sat at my bedside, kissed me deeply and whispered his heartfelt apology before picking up his suitcase and leaving my house.

***

Oh well. Sometimes you fall in the hole, and sometimes you make your way around it. Me? I'm a master of climbing out of it. I can never stay there long. And truth be told, I never intend to see it again. I visualize myself, shovel in hand, filling that stupid abyss with all the useless garbage left in my head. All in all, it was a real shame about how Jack and I parted.

But we have made our amends. Jack and I have had several long e-mails. We've worked hard to smooth the rough edges from the ending of our wonderful week together, and although he is congenial and friendly in his communications, I wonder if we'll ever have the comfortable relationship I'd hoped for.

He has convinced me of one thing. That the Brothers have no cruel intentions. And he'd left me with a clear warning to accept that I am desirable, a real necessity of self-preservation, before I pull Hando's name from the hat. "My lady," he wrote just this afternoon. "All of your power is in your sensuality and sensitivity. Your beauty is only the surface of your strength."

Jack Aubrey. Damn.

So I stood poised over the hat. Now what? Now that I've already done what I had believed impossible, fallen in love with not one but two men, I faced the name that challenged me as I'd once challenged him in one of my own stories. Terry Thorne was coming to my house.

This time I was prepared. Having faced my biggest fear, Maximus. Having survived and learned from my depression with the help of a kind, strong man, Jack. I was more than ready for a contemporary man, a man comfortable with himself and his feelings. With Terry it would be pizza and beer. With Terry it would be conversation, discussion, and friendship. With Terry I expected no emotional roller-coaster rides. Hell, with Terry, I expected no sex. After all, it really isn't all about the sex. With Terry, I'd find my comfort zone. HA!

Terry drove himself from the airport in a rented silver Mercedes. He stepped into my house and smiled, then slid out of his tailored silk jacket and looked around. When I offered him coffee, he simply walked into my kitchen, located a mug and poured his own. Black and strong. The same way I like my coffee. We chatted about his flight, his last mission and my consulting business. It was all fine, but not.

Have you ever had a premonition that the entire world as you know it is about to alter? Well, as I watched Terry drop his suitcase just inside my guest room I was slammed with the shocking awareness that Terry Thorne was oh-so-not what I was prepared for. He slowly leaned on the doorway, his broad back to me, head lowered.

"Listen Riley," he said, his voice in a low growl. "I'm not in the mood for fuckin' games."

As he slowly turned, his eyes, far more brilliant blue than I expected, bore into my own. "I'm looking for somethin' outa this week, and I haven't the patience my Brothers have."

It sounded like a threat, but I could feel what he was saying far beneath the words, below the melodious sound of his voice. The requirements this man had, came from someplace within the torment of his own heart.

"My God, Terry. What's wrong?" I asked as my hand softly traveled the length of his arm. He shivered, then took my palm and brushed his soft lips on it.

"I lost a best mate, Little Sister. Thirty-eight-years-old. They buried him today." And beneath the words I clearly heard, "I need comfort."

And this is how my relationship started with Terry Thorne. And I wondered; was this a side of him the other Sisters knew? I was not baffled by it, only touched that he felt safe enough to reveal his deepest pain to me. I've read other diaries. I know how compelling a lover he can be. But it wasn't that way at all. The sex was crisp and telling. It was impassioned with demons and conquest. And I held the doors open for him, allowing him to charge in and take out his grief, to pour his hurt into me. For three days we spoke little, but I made myself his pillow and his sounding board.

I know what you're thinking. That I should have stood my ground, but Terry needed what I gave to him, and I'll be forever grateful to have served him in that way. On Thursday he packed his bags. He sat at the edge of my bed, smoothing back my hair, running a fingertip across my lower lip.

"Little Sister, the next time you request me, you'll meet the real me, I promise."

"I have met the real you. Terry, you are an extraordinarily human man and I love you."

His kiss was deep and slow. "Listen to me," he leaned back, his eyes serious, his brows curled. "I want ya to stop this silly game. It's a waste of time."

"What game?"

He smiled a crooked grin and tilted his head. "We all know who you want. Just ask for him, Little Sister."

I sat up and reached for my night shirt. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Riley, he knows it, I know it. We all know. Ask for him."

I stood and tried to fasten a button with shaking fingers.

Terry put his big hands over mine then he slid the flannel from my shoulders and kissed the area just above my breast, causing shivers that made me gasp. "But before you meet the love of your life, let me feel you mold against me just once more. I love how ya mold against me. Let me make love to ya now, while I still have your whole heart."

Good Lord, even the memory makes me lose my self.

***

Terry had left early; his week cut three days short by an emergency call from Dino. But not before he took me like the lover of my other Sisters' diaries. As I watched him drive off, I felt that now familiar warm heart thump and wondered, was it really possible to love so many men at once?

It took a few hours for me to settle back into my pre-Terry life. My mind was overloaded with wonderful memories and the residual, sensual cadence of pulsing passion. Generally I felt content. But . . . somewhere deep down, I was a bit taken aback and pissed off by his assumption that I was hiding my desire for one of the Brothers. I huffed and chuckled. Those damn Brothers, they thought they knew everything.

Again I pulled a name from my hat. Then another and yet another. Each of my requests were denied for one reason or another. E-mails flew back and forth over the next few days.

Cort was deep into a project and unavailable.

Lachlan was engaged in the arms of Isobel.

Bud was helping Terry and Dino in Costa Rica.

Hando was in the service of another Sister (or two). I couldn't help but release a sigh of relief at that.

With a scowl and growing frustration, I reached again into the hat. Warding off my insecurities, I simply pulled the next name . . . and gasped. Then I sat at my computer and typed my request with shaking fingers. I pushed the "send" button and squeezed my eyes shut. Within seconds the e-mail alert bonged. It came from John Biebe himself. It simply said . . .

yes

***

Today I am born. A woman of this world. Looking into the mirror and pulling a brush through my hair, I realized that I was new, a product of challenge and love. I picked up my purse and car keys, marveling at how fearless I'd become. John Biebe was coming to Pittsburgh. He was coming to my house. He was coming into my life. My life.

Only a little early at the airport, I did not pace at the foot of the escalator, fearful or threatened by my own imagination. I did not fuss over how I looked or what he might think. I did not worry over his possible disappointment. I simply waited for John. Sure that I would love him more than any of them. Knowing that I already loved him. Whatever circumstances would be would be. But of my deep love, I was positive.

I sipped coffee and stood near the baggage claim. A family passed with several children of various ages in tow, all wearing Mickey Mouse ears and jostling for attention. The pre-teen and teenager walked a few paces behind, the babe in arms cried, and the toddlers ran in circles. The scene made me chuckle. Mom was patient and relaxed, but dad looked like he'd already blown a few blood vessels in his forehead.

Then suddenly I felt it. John. As I turned and looked up the escalator, he noticed me. A smile pulled at his lips and I walked closer. John Biebe leapt the last few steps and was quickly within my reach, his smile spreading wider with every step. My body took on a life of its own, completely unaware that somewhere inside was a self-conscious, appropriate woman. Rising up on my toes, my arms comfortably reached up and wrapped around his neck. John returned the embrace fully, dropping his luggage were we stood and bending to bury his face in my neck.

"God sakes, Riley." He spoke between soft kisses that covered my shoulder and neck. "I have been waiting fuckin' forever for you to ask."

One huge hand pressed at the small of my back, while the other buried deep in my hair. He pulled away and moved both hands to my face, a thumb brushing one joyous tear away. Then his mouth lowered to mine and John kissed me, his lips performing one, extraordinary caress after another, his passion sucking all of me into his big, beautiful heart.

Arm in arm we walked to my car, my body pressing against his, his head leaning down to comment on the people, the weather, his flight. And with each lean, came a welcome, hugging squeeze. In the car, he relaxed easily, his hand occasionally running over my hair, brushing my ear, causing accident-potential shivers to ripple down the right side of my entire body. I reached up and took his hand, lifting it to my lips and planting a soft kiss on his big, calloused palm. John grasped my hand and placed it on his thigh, covering my fingers with his own.

The feel of his strong leg beneath worn jeans took my heart into overdrive. I've loved this man since I first saw him, huddled beneath a fur hat, cranking the ignition of a temperamental jeep. Something told me there was more to John Biebe than the character his creator had performed. Mystery Alaska was the first film I'd seen Russell Crowe in. John Biebe was the first character I felt compelled to write about for Izzy, and now, sitting beside me in the flesh, he'd become the first true love of my life. Terry was right. No brother would ever hold this place in my heart, no matter how lovable they are.

I missed my exit, but no matter. I took the next, winding the back roads home one handed, my right hand trapped between his palm and his warm leg. "Are you hungry? We can stop."

"After, Little Sister. We'll eat after."

I turned to see exactly what should be in your lover's eyes and nodded then pressed the gas peddle a little harder.

We walked into my door and John kicked it closed, his hands otherwise occupied on me. Keys were left dangling in the lock; luggage was left where it fell. A trail of clothing marked our route like breadcrumbs. My sweater, his denim shirt, my shoes. At my bedroom, John never took the moment his Brother's had, to look it over and use what they saw to decipher the woman they'd be touching. My body was all John cared to focus his attention on and I was completely absorbed in the feel of his. It wasn't pretty or graceful; it was actually a little comical how we eliminated every stitch of obstruction from our way. John spent several giggling moments tangled in his tee shirt. I actually tumbled onto my ass while trying to free his feet from his jeans with John bent over me, attempting to unclip my bra. We laughed and kissed and touched our way into a passion so overwhelming I lost myself inside.

John's hands molded my flesh, squeezing it, smoothing it. His lips encompassed my mouth with force and excitement and then, everything slowed into a loving pace. His tongue parted my lips as he lifted us to our feet at the foot of my big, high Victorian bed. John's tongue was like no other Brother's. It tasted and wanted to be tasted at once. It was soft and delicious and I wanted to suckle there forever. But his mouth left mine, trailing wet kisses down my throat, his head bent and my hands tangled in the silken softness of his hair. And John found my breasts. With both hands he held one and licked, then sucked easily, sending tremors through me.

The moment his mouth released me, I fell softly to my knees and took him into my mouth. John's gentleness was contagious. I wanted to please him, to love him. I ran my tongue the length of his shaft, tasting a sweetness I wasn't expecting. I was starving for him. He moaned and tenderly smoothed my hair as I fingered and massaged, used my tongue and my teeth, my whole mouth to devour him. I wanted that moment to go on forever but John whispered.

"Not yet. First things first," he said softly, looking into my eyes and willing me to trust him. He guided me onto the bed and placed one hand behind my back, slowly lowering me to the mattress. I could have climaxed from the aroma of his scent alone, so close and warm. I will never forget the pure animal smell of him, the sweet flavor of John Biebe.

He lowered between my knees and kissed my mouth deeply, exploring every part of it. Gently, his fingers and tongue moved to my breasts. He raised himself and looked at them the way a photographer or artist admires a favorite subject and for the first time in my life, I knew I was beautiful. I knew it. Taking tongue to nipple he slowly, with purpose and expertise worked me into a frenzy that threatened to put me into a coma. Never before had I felt such intense pleasure from such a gentle touch and I was embarrassed. But John smiled. I was comforted. Safe. I trusted him with my life.

Then he moved down, his lips and tongue tracing a path between my legs. He gently pushed my knees, opening me completely to him. His mouth was hot, sensual, sucking and licking, twisting me into knots and I cried out for more. And he gave me more, rolling me around my bed until I could hold off no more. It took an eternity for my heart to calm, my breathing to regain rhythm.

"Relax, baby," John said, smoothing a hand over my brow. "Relax, and we'll do it again."

I laughed, believing it was impossible to reach such a summit more than once in a lifetime.

"Relax," he whispered with a raised eyebrow. Then again he kissed my mouth in a way that made me feel like I was a part of him. John's big fingers slid inside of me, moving with calculated purpose, sliding in, sliding out. Two fingers, three. Four. They curled, then straightened, slid and twisted. He reached a rhythm that matched my heartbeat and I exploded, feeling myself so wet, his hand slid out gracefully. Like I'd given birth to something remarkable.

Then John positioned himself smoothly and slid into me, pressing deep, his breath moving the hair from my face.

"Relax," he whispered. "We'll do it again," and I believed him. I felt him deepen, drilling further than anyone could. John's hips were wet with sweat and I slid along with his movements, a graceful dance that had never been done before. Only John and I were capable. We were drifting, floating in the air, far above the planet, silently churning the clouds. I could feel John's heart beat inside my own ears, sense the tension growing in his groin.

"Relax," I whispered and he slowed slightly. We drifted down, down, back to the bad, to the tangled blankets. Back to the ache in my belly, the demand at the edge of my senses. John knew I was close, he knew what I needed and he pressed once so deeply I cried out, then looked into my eyes again and kissed me, this time hard. Then he pounded into my very heart. A solid, steady beat that brought a delicious moan from somewhere so far in my soul I couldn't recognize it as my own voice. Or perhaps it was his. Perhaps that beautiful sound came from the creature created by our pure synergy, that mystic being born of perfection.

Perfection. John cried out just as I did, his face pressed against mine and I felt tears drip onto my cheek. I placed my hand on his face and he turned to kiss it. If I have one gift from John Biebe, it is truly the gift of his soft, beautiful lips on the palm of my hand.

And one more gift. When I awoke just before dawn I felt whole, complete. The feeling of all of him pressed tenderly against all of me. Skin to skin, my body and my heart were completely cradled in John's arms, his sleep breath brushing softly against my cheek.

I finally knew that I belong here. It was a long twisted road, but I've made it. John stirred, then slid a huge hand over me and tightened against my willing body. He nuzzled my neck then kissed my cheek.

"Welcome home, Little Sister."