Page 127 of Bride of the Fae Prince

A second later, those trousers and white shirt are replaced by . . . by . . .

A chortling laugh catches in my throat and I slap my hands over my mouth to keep it in. “You—Ash!” And then I can’t help laughing outright.

He’s wearing the very same dress I am, only slightly adjusted to his proportions. Enough that his broad shoulders don’t bustthe bodice at the seams, but not enough to lend the dress length, so it hangs just below his knees, baring his calves.

It’s so unexpected, so vastly ridiculous and incongruous, that I double over with laughter, leaning back against the door, fighting to breathe. I barely remember to check for the little shimmers around the edge of him, but I find them between gasps of laughter. A distant part of my brain registers that I can see glamours like a fae.

Ash just stands there, grinning down at me like an idiot. He dismisses the glamour, and he’s back to his own clothes, but I’m still laughing, sliding down the door until I’m sitting on the ground.

He drops to the floor next to me, stretching out his long legs. I try to swallow my laughter, but a giggle emerges as I swipe the tears from my eyes. “You have just scarred me for life,” I say, and giggle again. “I need to scrub that image out of my mind with soap!”

He smiles softly at me. It’s one of those smiles that makes my insides turn to warm honey. For a moment, I’m caught in that gaze, forgetting my laughter. Forgetting everything.

And then, before I quite know what’s happening, Ash wraps an arm around me and pulls me onto his lap. My thoughts fly away like a swarm of bees. He’s looking up at me with half-lidded eyes as he threads his arms around me and pulls me against his chest.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says. “Or I’ll kiss you.”

His mouth is so close, it would take hardly any effort to press my lips to his.

But that would just be too easy.

“Sometimes, when you come near me,” I breathe, “I get a little dizzy.”

He lifts one eyebrow. “Dizzy?”

“Dizzy.”

He frowns, as though considering this, his brows drawing together. “Am I supposed to be complimented?”

I give him a little grin. “If you’d like.”

He chuckles, low and raspy. “Then I’m complimented. Now tell me another thought, or else I’ll kiss you.”

“I’m not mad that you kissed me last night.”

At this, his shoulders visibly relax, and he closes his eyes. “I was sure you’d hate me for that.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped, but I don’t blame you for starting.”

He gives me a wry look. “Itwaspart of the deal that you wouldn’t be mad at me.”

“Perhaps I’m adjusting to the way you fae make bargains.”

“Thatwas not a bargain, but sure.” His gaze falls to my mouth, his hand lifting to trace circles on my ribs, leaving fire in its wake. “Another thought, darling.”

I can’t help leaning forward just an inch and pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose before pulling back. His eyes widen slightly, and they lift from my mouth to hold my gaze. My heart hammers. “Sometimes, I think I’m falling in love with you. And other times I think it must be one of your fae glamours or spells making me feel this way.”

His thumb stops moving on my ribs.

A scrap of sense returns to my addled mind. Enough that I think to ask, “Haveyou ever put me under any kind of spell, Ash?”

“No,” he says immediately, and the word rings true in the air. No iron stench assaults me. And it makes me realize that not once yesterday evening, or this morning, has Ash lied to me. “Not besides glamouring your appearance and hiding your human scent.”

This lifts a weight I didn’t know I carried. It’s confirmed. Fact. Ash hasn’t manipulated me with magic. I didn’tthinkhe had, but at the same time . . . there was always the possibility.

“I . . .” Ash pauses, clears his throat, a flash of pain cutting across his features. “Stella . . . I don’t want you to be afraid of me. Of who and what I am. I know I’m many things that I shouldn’t be, and not a lot of things that I should. But I want to be a better man for you. So if you decide to stay, if there’s even a chance we might have a future together that lasts beyond the next four days . . .” He trails off again, lifts one of his hands from my waist, and slowly, almost tentatively, reaches for my cheek. As if afraid I’ll pull away. His eyes bore into mine, a tender intensity that makes me forget to breathe. His palm cups the side of my face, and it’s cool against my flaming skin. “I’m a broken mess, Stella, but if you want me, I will be completely yours, and only yours, for the rest of my days.”

The tips of his fingers brush the hair at my temple, and it might be my imagination, but when he ducks his head, I could swear he says,“I already am.”

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