He took a deep breath, claimed one last kiss, and then forced himself to release her mouth.
Her sigh tasted of wine and berries and…
“So sweet,” he said.
“Elderflower,” she whispered.
He smiled and touched his forehead to hers. “I want you, Allison. I want to marry you, but I also just… I want you.”
Her breath hitched at his words. But rather than give her the chance to resist him again, he turned to continue their descent.
The renewal of his purpose clouded the silence between them.
But he could not wish the words back. He needed her. He needed to marry her, and the attraction between them couldn’t be ignored. This attraction was like the heat simmering beneath a spyglass held between dry tinder and a hot summer sun.
“I can’t. I told you—”
“Shhh…” He reached his free hand behind him, and she grasped hold of it. “We’re almost there.
With each step, the air grew heavy from the damp sea air, and the sounds of crashing waves more distinct.
Allison.
A name that summoned needles—sticking, jabbing, and reminding her this wasn’t real.
She could almost ignore it.
And then he’d brought up marriage again.
Priscilla’s emotions jumped like a rowboat on a tidal wave. One moment her body and heart were singing, and the next, crashing against the shore.
They’d reached the bottom of the steps. “Close your eyes,” he said. His teeth flashed a quick grin, catching the light from the torch but also the moonlight.
She closed her eyes, trusting him completely. He had both her hands in his now and was walking behind her, leading her… outside.
Strong gusts of air rushed up from below to swirl around them. And then he moved her hands so that they rested on a stone ledge, his body behind hers protectively.
“Now open them,” he said.
As she did so, the view caused her jaw to drop. Below them, crests of white water reflected the moonlight that bounced off the surrounding rocks. And in the distance… the sea.
“This is what I thought of the first time I looked into your eyes—the sea at night, mysterious and timeless.”
Priscilla blinked away the stinging in her eyes.
Stinging from the wind. Priscilla wasn’t going to cry over his compliment. Her eyes were dark blue; that was all. She blinked a few more times and then tilted her head back to see that the roof that provided protection was carved out of rock.
The terrace was suspended on the wall of the cliff.
“Originally, this was an entrance used for smuggling,” Emerson explained. “Ropes were dropped to the beach, where they’d tie on a barrel of brandy to be hefted up. The smuggled goods were stored in the cellars. But that was long ago. Now, we simply call it Cliff Terrace.”
“It’s…” She shook her head.
“Terrifying? Incredible? Unworldly?” He nuzzled her from behind. And then he reached around her. “For you,” he said.
A dark blue stone dangled before her. It was intricately secured in an ornate setting hooked to a chain looped around Emerson’s hand.
“It’s not particularly valuable, but the black sapphire has always been one of my favorites. It’s always reminded me of the sea at night.” Did he sound embarrassed?
