She pulls back slightly, her breath cool on his lips. “Cerian.” Her voice comes out in a half-whimper, and suddenly his hands are tingling. “Cerian, don’t...don’t let go. But—”
“I know.” He rests his forehead against hers as their chests heave and their hearts pound. He needs to let off more of this heat, but not yet. He wants to exist in this moment with her for a little longer.
“I love you, Cerian,” she whispers as she clings to his neck, and he buries his face in her hair. It smells like the soap Grandmera stocks all the guest rooms with at Windhaven. A light, fruity scent with a hint of honey.
“I don’t know what you see in me,” he says.
“You cut my potatoes for me when Cook wasn’t looking.”
Potatoes? She loves him because of the potatoes? A light laugh escapes before he can stop it. “I didn’t want you to maim yourself. Plus, it would have taken you days to finish.”
She pulls back and smacks his chest as she laughs with him. “It would not!”
“I’m glad to hear your heart is so easily won. All it takes is the ability to dice vegetables.”
“Stop,” she laughs. “It’s not just the potatoes, you ridiculous elf.”
“Ridiculous? You think I’m ridiculous? I should drop you from this platform.” He slides his hands around her waist and lifts her toward the edge.
A laughing gasp escapes her throat, and she clutches at his neck again. “Cerian! Put me down!”
“Down there? That’s a long fall.”
“Cerian!” She shakes with laughter, and he doesn’t even try to hold back his smile. The longer she presses herself against him, though, the warmer he grows.
With a sigh, he sets her back on the platform. “I need to let off some heat before I burn you in the real world.”
“It’s all right. I understand.”
Reluctantly, he lets her go, and she drops her arms and steps back. She looks so adorably mussed that he almost pulls her close again, but his tingling palms bring him back to his senses.
His fire magic. He needs to expend this heat.
Turning, he creates more fire in his hands, as he’s been doing off and on all day. Thoughts of the way her lips and body felt pressed against him fill his head as fire flares in his palms.
Whistling wind. He...kissed her. And not just a peck. A real kiss full of passion and heat and...and fire.
And she kissed him in return, holding nothing back.
When he glances over his shoulder at her, she smiles his way.
Happy. She looks happy.
And he’ll do whatever it takes to keep her that way.
AsCerianstandswithhis back to her, draining his fire magic, Arisanna studies him, taking in every detail, from his hair fluttering in the breeze to the leather stretching across his shoulders. Does he always wear leather? That elven leather that inexplicably shows off his muscles in a way that makes her stomach flip.
The setting sun behind him fills the sky with glorious golds and oranges, mirroring the autumn foliage on the trees below. Between the sunset, the burnished leaves, and her elven prince, it’s a gorgeous view.
When he flexes his hands at his sides, turning toward her again, her heart races.
What happens now?
The corner of his mouth ticks up as his eyes sweep over her. “I seem to have mussed your hair.”
“What?” Heat floods her, and she attempts to smooth her loose tresses. “Do I look ridiculous?”
He hesitates briefly before answering. “You look perfect to me.”
