Ordinary. Predictable.
Easily claimed.
She was something else.
Something dangerous.
Something divine.
Her fire required patience. Precision.
She wasn’t a thing to be possessed.
She had to be earned.
And he was willing to wait.
He had already given so much of himself,
and still, she didn’t know.
She movedthrough the world with unconscious grace,
her rhythm at odds with the restless storm knotted inside his chest.
He had watched others.
Brief fascinations.
Women who sparked for a moment, then flickered out.
Too eager. Too soft.
Too easily shaped.
They stepped into his orbit with wide eyes and open hands.
He lost interest before they ever understood what they were supposed to mean to him.
But Arden?
Arden resisted gravity.
She didn’t bend.
She burned.
His Little Fire.
She was worth the wait.
When she stoppedat the bottom of her steps—stared down at the rose,
his pulse jumped.
Yes.
See it.
