She blinked away the stars in her eyes, her brow furrowing. “Is that the best you can do? ‘I may as well ask you to marry me.’”
Was that the best I could—“No. I can do better.” I pulled her toward the heart of the garden, between laurel hedges, blocking our view of the castle—of the world—until it was just the two of us. “Wait here.”
I spun around the garden, calling on far too much magic to give my soulmate the proposal she deserved. Faerie lights for the hedges. A bouquet of her favorite flowers from where they grew at the far corner of the property. Shifting ribbons to hold them together and leaving it on the edge of the stone fountain.
Part of me was convinced this was all a dream, that when I rounded the hedge, she wouldn’t be there. But she was. Keelynn was there. Waiting forme.
I took her hand in mine and drew her into the garden. She turned in a slow circle, her mouth forming a silent O. With a flick of my wrist, the bouquet I’d made appeared in her hand.
“Lady Keelynn Bannon,” I said, kneeling and keeping my face from showing any sign of discomfort as gravel ground into my kneecap. “I’d given up hope of ever finding someone I loved. And then you waltzed into a pub and threatened to kill me. I am wrecked by you, completely undone. I would trade my soul for a smile. My kingdom for a kiss. My world to call you my wife. Will you give me the honor of a second chance to be your husband?”
I shifted the same ribbon Rían had used to bind us the first time, holding my breath while I awaited her answer.
“You want to get marriednow?”
“What’s wrong with now?”
Laughing, she shook her head, dark waves curling over her shoulders. “Nothing is wrong with now. Now is perfect.”
She placed her hand in mine, of her own free will. I wrapped the lace around us, binding my heart, my life, my world to hers. The vows I’d said in a panicked haze only a few days ago came back with crystal clarity. I pledged myself to this woman, knowing life could only get better. That this momentous occasion would live in my heart and head for eternity. When I finished, I slipped my ring onto her finger where it belonged.
Before I could prompt her, Keelynn began reciting the vows back to me.
“To you I pledge my body and soul,” she said, her husky tones curling straight for my chest. “All that I am and all that I have is yours. I bind myself to you and you alone, forsaking all others. In giving you my hands, I give you my life, to have and to cherish until death do us part—”
I caught her glorious hair with my unbound hand and kissed the mouth that had made each promise, swallowing them, letting each syllable settle in my heart.
Something fell next to my boot. Keelynn’s bouquet. The cool fingers of her free hand slid around my neck, her chest molding to mine. My wife.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
I wanted her more than my next breath. Needed her right here. Right now.
The scraps of lace tying us together fell away, allowing me to shift my bed to the middle of the garden. Keelynn gasped when I lifted her in my arms and carried her to the silk sheets.
She may not have been the only woman I had ever been with, but she was the first to lie in my bed.
My desperate lips fell to hers, tasting her sighs. “What would you say to a wedding night, Maiden Death?”
The wasp bit my lip.
“I’m taking that as a yes,” I growled, scaling her glorious body, prepared to stake my claim. Slowly, I rocked my hips against her center, finding a rhythm, making intimate music. Her gasp told me when I hit the right spot. Her clumsy fingers told me she was ready.
“Hurry.”
She wanted me to hurry, did she? In this, I’d be happy to disappoint. “My dear mortal wife, if you think I’m going to rush this, you must be mad. Although, you did marry me of your own free will, so perhaps you are.”
A sound of pure indignance left her throat. She tried to catch my belt buckle. I knocked her hand away.
“Don’t make me stab you,” she ground out, eyes flashing.
Hearing the need vibrating in her voice only made me want to build on it until she came out of her feckin’ skin. I held up a finger, keeping my gaze locked on her blown-out pupils as I dragged that finger from the delicate arch of her foot, over her heel, along the swell of her calf, the underside of her knee, to hook in the top of her stocking.
And pulled it down, baring creamy skin kissed by starlight streaming through the open curtains. My body hummed with cursed magic, slipping free to dance along our bodies as I removed the second stocking the exact same torturous way.
The silky hem of her skirts felt liquid against my fingertips.
My wife began shaking her head. I stilled, a moment of panic clearing the lust from my thoughts. She shouldn’t be saying no. She should be crying yes.