For this.
The wind, the glow,her.
Arden leaned against the railing, wind tugging at her hair, her eyes locked on the city sprawled before her.
“I’ve lived here for months,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “But somehow… this feels new.”
Gideon wasn’t watching the view; he was watching her.
“Perspective’s a hell of a thing.”
She turned to him, her smile small, but sure. “Yeah. It is.”
He reached out , brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear—his fingers slow and sure—grazing her cheek like he needed to feel her.
The touch lit a spark under her skin that didn’t fade.
A breath caught between them.
Hers?
His?
She wasn’t sure.
The space narrowed, but neither moved quickly.
It wasn’t urgency; it was gravity.
Then he pulled her in; hands moving down her sides until they settled at her waist, strong and steady, like he didn’t want to let go.
She turned into him without thinking.
Then, he leaned in.
The kiss started softly, like he was asking rather than assuming. But the second she met him there—answered with her breath, her mouth, her body—the space between them disappeared.
Nothing about it felt performative. There was no rush, no pretending.
Only a deep pull, heat laced with reverence that left her dizzy.
She wasn’t fragile. He didn’t treat her as fragile as glass, and that mattered. She was solid, grounded—lush and striking and completely real. And he kissed her like he understood that. Like it wasn’t the first time he’d thought about this moment.
She gripped the front of his shirt, trying to slow the wild rhythm in her chest.
This wasn’t just heat.
It was trust.
Timing.
When they finally parted,her breath came in uneven bursts. Her skin hummed with the imprint of him. And even then, he didn’t step away.
His forehead came to rest lightly against hers, breath to breath. The noise of the city fell away until it was just them, standing still in the middle of everything.
“Thank you,” she said after a long moment.
He pulled back slightly to study her face. “For what?”
