Page 39 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
His lips brush my earlobe. “I would never let you drown, Songbird.”
Aidan holds the both of us out of the water like it’s easy, clearly a fantastic swimmer, and drags me under the canopy of gnarled roots at the back of the pond. Hidden from the world above, a small alcove offers a reprieve from the sun—and the keen eyes of our peers.
The roots of the willow tree twist and curl above our heads, forming a natural archway framed by trailing tendrils of neon-green lichen that thrives in the shadows. The air is cool and damp, filled with the earthy scents of wet moss and rich soil.
The water is clear enough for me to see the tubular network extend well below my feet before it vanishes into an inky abyss. Droplets plop down from the underbelly of the tree above and create a myriad of gentle, circular ripples across the water. It’s like we’re in an entirely different world.
Now that we’re out of view, Aidan’s joyful, carefree expression morphs into something heavy, tortured, and a little dark. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You have to be mine, Songbird.” He squeezes my sides, his ragged breaths rushing out.
Heartbeats pound in my chest, the immediate fear of drowning in Aidan’s arms suddenly taking on a whole new meaning.
A flush creeps up my neck. “I-I can’t be yours, Aidan.”
He presses his forehead to mine, his breath warm against my skin. "Why not?"
I hold on to the closest lifeline I can find. "Because I’m not an object," I manage to whisper, though my certainty wavers. "I’m a person, and I can’t be owned."
"Your logic is flawed," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate, "because you own me."
A shudder runs through me, and I press my hands to his shoulders. "You don’t even know me.”
“I’m following my instincts,” he says, and for a moment, I’m caught in the intensity of his stare, my heart pounding in a fanfare that both excites and terrifies me.
“It’s not your instincts you’re following. It’s your” —my gaze darts down between us— “Faehood.” I blush, a hot burst of shame searing my entrails. Why couldn’t I just saycock?
A low, masculine chuckle rumbles up Aidan’s throat, the devilish prince clearly amused by the euphemism. “Talk more about my Faehood.”
“You’re a cocky bastard.”
“I’m a prince.”
“Is that how you justify your behavior?”
“I’m Aidan Summers. The heir forged in flames. The resplendent phoenix. I was never allowed to be anything else but bold, impulsive, and simply…ardent. People expect that of me. I need to burn brighter than everyone else. So I put on a smirk and forge ahead. It doesn’t mean I don’t have hopes and dreams of my own. Fears, even.”
I crack a smile. “And what does a resplendent bastard fear, exactly?”
“I’m terrified of your indifference. Did you think about me at all?”
He looks so apprehensive, like a negative answer might actually hurt him.Real.
A wet strand of hair has fallen over his brow, and I brush it behind his ear. “I did wonder if you’d moved on already.”
“Never.”
Warmth radiates from his body, a stark contrast to the cool water of the pond. It melts the promises I made myself to stay away from him, one icicle of doubt at a time. Every detail of his face becomes magnified, from the slight arch of his brow to the way his lips part ever so slightly, his breaths growing shorter and uneven as my gaze darts down to the drop of water hanging from his chin. I wish I could dip my head down and lick it off.
The urge to close the distance between us, to bridge that final gap, dizzies me. Just the thought of crossing that line sends a jolt of adrenaline through my body.
“Beth…” he murmurs.
I shiver at the sound of my name on his lips.
The space between us shrinks to barely a quarter inch of wavering restraint and crackling desire. Until neither of us can suffer the wait anymore. I lean in first—or maybe he pulls me to him, the movement unrehearsed, yet natural.
Kissing Aidan is an even worse ailment than I remembered. As soon as our lips touch, I’m drowning again. Not in water, but in flames. In him.
There’s nothing else like it.
