“Did you just propose to me?”
His lips curl into the most beautiful grin I’ve ever seen him wear. “I suppose I did. Do you accept?” He runs a hand up and down my spine, the touch eliciting a shudder of pleasure. Fire heats every part of me, my heart, my flesh, the apex of my thighs. It mingles with the joy that wells in my chest, the love that radiates to every corner of my being.
I don’t care if it’s pretend. I don’t care if this year we’re imagining never comes to pass.
In our minds and in our hearts, we’re living it now.
“Yes, Aspen. I’ll marry you.”
His lips crush into mine, and a second later, I feel myself being lifted from the tub. Wrapping my arms around his neck, we kiss with every step he takes from the bathing room to our bed. He lays me down on our warm blankets and presses himself close. Before he can get too comfortable, I shift my legs, then roll my weight over his. He complies, allowing me to turn him onto his back. I climb upon him, arching my back as one of his hands caresses my hips, the other lighting over my breast. There he teases another wave of pleasure. A moan escapes my lips and I fall forward, catching myself on my hands.
“Always and forever, Evie.” Aspen’s voice comes low and rough. “No matter how many days that is.”
I claim his lips with mine, then lower myself onto him. “Always and forever, Aspen.”
36
The next morning, I wake in a tangle of sheets and limbs with Aspen’s arm sprawled over my naked chest. Hazy morning sunlight peeks through the shutters in our bedroom, bringing with it the desert heat, already warming my skin. I shift beneath Aspen’s arm to roll toward him, settling my hand on his side and bringing my face just below his. A smile comes to my lips as I study his slack expression, feel his soft breaths brush my cheeks. His antlers hang over the back of our mattress, his hair in tangled disarray, curled from last night’s sweat and our time in the bath. Memories of our passion rise to my mind, as well as the playful words we exchanged. I can’t say if we made love four times or not; it’s hard to say for sure at this point. Even lying still, my body aches from our time spent together, engaged in our game of pretend. Pretend that also wasn’t pretend.
Aspen begins to stir, and as he blinks his eyes open, he catches my gaze. A wide grin plays over his lips, and he immediately nuzzles closer, bringing our mouths to touch. “Good morning,” he says, between kisses.
I wrap my arms around his neck, and he shifts his body slightly over my upper half. Pulling away, his eyes wander every inch of me, drinking me in with clear pleasure in his eyes. One hand is propped beneath my neck while the other explores my skin in a soft caress, roving lazily from my neck to my torso, then down my legs.
Just like that, fire ignites inside me. “If you aren’t careful, we’re never getting out of this bed,” I say, voice husky.
He leans in for another kiss, his tongue dancing against mine. When we separate, he snags my lower lip gently between his teeth. “I can think of far worse fates.”
The blood leaves my face at the mention of worse fates, and Aspen’s expression turns apologetic.
“I could have phrased that better.” His hand finds mine and laces our fingers together.
With him so close, with his body so warm against me, it’s impossible for the flash of dread I felt a moment ago to linger. Our game last night taught me something valuable—that if we must face certain doom, I don’t want to do it sulking and living in fear. I want to face it without regrets. I want to live my last days to the fullest because they matter.
I smile up at him, breathing in the scent of his skin. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” His smile mirrors mine, and it’s his sweetest one, the kind that crinkles his eyes, free from mischief and teasing.
“How do you know exactly what to do to get me out of a mood?”
He shrugs. “I think you would know how to do the exact same for me.”
I ponder that for a moment. Is he right? If the tables were turned, would I know how to get him out of the darkest humor? “I’d probably just fight with you.”
Now the mischief melts into his grin. “Exactly. We work well together, you and I.” He brings our lips to meet once again, and this time, we let our kisses linger, deepen. I’m almost certain we’re nearing an encore of last night when a knock sounds at the door.
We pull away, breathless and smiling. “We slept late,” I whisper. “I suppose we should attend to our duties.”
“Must we?”
I ignore him and shout toward the door, “Coming!”
“She’s actually not,” Aspen adds, “thanks to you.”
I swat him playfully as I extricate myself from his arms. He steals several kisses in the process, and by the time I’m at the door, wrapped hastily in a crooked robe, my cheeks are flushed with heat and happiness. However, the face I see on the other side of my threshold has my brow furrowed. It’s Marie Coleman.
“Your Majesty,” she says with a clumsy curtsey. She’s dressed in loose slacks and a cropped, sleeveless linen top, its drape flowing in several folds gathered from a wide, bronze ring around her neck, revealing a flash of skin over her stomach. Although it isn’t a dress, I’d know an Amelie design anywhere now. And I’d say Marie seems comfortable in her new Fire Court attire if it weren’t for the way she wrings her hands, shifting from foot to foot.
“What is it, Marie?”
