It was her eyes.

The way they flashed the first time he’d seen her standing on the stairs looking down at him. There’d been a fire that startled him, like lightning reaching out to strike him. He kept looking then, watching her looks to feel it again.

The way they burn when she is angry, smolder when she desires him, brighten and sparkle when she needs his comfort, darken and deepen, drawing him in, when she is afraid.

The way they speak without her needing words, hold him before she can touch him, smile at him.

He loves her eyes.