He may sound sincere, but that pause was telling.
“A perfect mess?” A strangled laugh escapes her, but he shakes his head.
“Just perfect. Always perfect. Especially right now.” His mouth twitches again, and she lowers her hands.
Stars above. She looks every bit as if she’s been kissed, and he likes it. Her flushed cheeks burn even hotter at the thought. He must feel her heart racing.
His smile grows, but he doesn’t comment on her pounding heart or heated cheeks. Thank goodness.
“Watch the sunset with me?” he asks tentatively, and she nods.
Everything feels so different now. The same, but...different. Could one kiss really change everything?
It was a pretty spectacular kiss.
He holds out his hand, and she steps toward him.
“Are you warm enough?” he asks softly.
Is she? She can barely feel anything beyond her beating heart and the buzzing beneath her skin at his nearness. How is she supposed to focus on the sunset?
“I don’t know,” she whispers before cringing. That must be the most inane thing she’s said to him yet.
His brows wrinkle, and he looks unsure of how to respond. With a nod, he turns away.
Oh, goodness. He wasn’t asking if she was cold. He was offering to wrap his arms around her.
Apparently, one kiss hasn’t changed everything. He’s still Cerian.
“It is chilly,” she says. “I...wouldn’t mind sharing your heat.”
When he looks back at her, relief fills his eyes. Does he really think she would reject him after kissing him like that?
Without speaking, he tentatively wraps his arms around her from behind. “Is this all right?”
“This is perfect.”
He relaxes at her back, and she lets herself melt against his chest. He’s not as hot as he was in the heartlanding. It’s a pleasant warmth—comfortable—though his nearness sends chills down her back.
The setting sun paints a brilliant sky before them, but Arisanna barely notices. Her senses are too full of Cerian. His warmth. The solidness of his arms encircling her waist. The faint smoky scent still emanating from him.
Neither of them speaks as the gold sky fades to gray, and twilight settles over the Wildthorne Woods.
The symphony of the forest rises from below as crickets chirp and frogs croak somewhere in the growing darkness. Arisanna shivers, and Cerian’s arms tighten around her, flooding her with extra warmth.
Her eyes slide closed, and as she basks in the pleasant sensation, a sigh escapes her.
Then he nuzzles her ear, and she gasps.
“Forgive me.” He pulls back. “I—”
“Cerian.” She turns in his arms and looks up into his eyes. Those pools of brilliant green, so expressive, betray a tangle of emotions. Hope and fear and longing and so much she can’t yet read.
“I’m yours,” she whispers as she lifts a hand to trail the smooth skin along his cheek. “Don’t be afraid. Not of me.”
He swallows, saying nothing.
Is his heart racing? He keeps glancing at her hand on his cheek. His breathing is shallow, his chest barely moving.
