Her breath broke into a giggle before melting into a gasp as he kissed her neck, again and again, until laughter became a sigh. His hand found hers, guiding her arms high above herhead, holding her there as though the world itself couldn’t tear her from him.
“We’re married,” she whispered against his lips.
“We’re married,” he answered—the word burning like a vow reborn.
Her fingers threaded into his raven hair, tugging him down into a kiss spun from devotion but stolen by hunger.
His palm dragged over the silken white of her gown, skimming higher, pressing her thigh against his hip until she caught her breath. His gaze swept her—silk against leather, her heartbeat hammering through her body—before climbing back to drown in her eyes.
“You drive me mad, Amerei. I want you every waking moment.”
“I want you,” she whispered, kissing him like rain breaking on sun-baked stone.
Then, breathless: “Come…”
She twisted free, gown flashing like moonlight, and he barely caught her hand before she darted away, laughter ringing through the garden.
Mine. She’s mine.
With a growl that shook like thunder, he gave chase—through the herb beds, past the forge, over the stone path—every stride a vow to catch her, cage her, keep her.
At the castle doors, he lunged. His hands caught her hips, dragging her back against him. She gasped, half-laugh, half-plea, anticipation spilling from her lips as he tried to claim another kiss. But she twisted free again, skirts whipping, bolts of white across the stair.
From the second-floor veranda, she glanced back—eyes blazing, daring him. “Come to my chamber, High-Captain.”
His pulse hammered as he took the steps slow—devouring her with his gaze. Her gown slipped from one shoulder, baringskin he ached to touch. She waited, one hand braced at her waist, the other tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, knowing full well what it did to him.
He bent close, his breath brushing her throat, his lips grazing her ear.
“Wrong chamber,” he rasped. “I’ve been ordered to carry you over the threshold of mine.”
She shivered at the word.
Then her mouth found his—no longer playful but desperate. Their breaths tangled, wild and shallow. His hands slid beneath her, locking at her thighs as he swept her into his arms. He took the last flight two at a time.
His heart roared in his chest as his chamber door loomed ahead. Every step over the veranda, aching, holy. His bride lay in his arms, draped in white, claimed in every sense but this last. He slipped the braid from his dagger hilt and tied it over her wrist without breaking stride, his gaze locked on hers like a storm about to break.
He shouldered the door open. It slammed behind them. She trembled, her hand fisting in the collar of his tunic.
“Amerei…”
His mouth found hers—the sound of his breath ragged against her lips.
He tore himself back just far enough to rasp, “Don’t mistake me, love—I’ll wait if you ask it. But if you don’t…” His thumb traced her jaw. “I won’t last a heartbeat before I take you.”
Her eyes shone with warmth that steadied him even through the fever of wanting.
Was she—smiling?
“Would you… set me down for a moment?” she asked, trembling not with fear, but decision.
He obeyed, though his hands lingered at her waist as if letting go meant losing her.
She reached up, fingers brushing the silver crown on her head.
“I need to… unweave this.”
Then she drew her hair over one shoulder and turned, the line of her neck bared. “Will you untie my gown? Just the top?”
