Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 127026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Fordham turned them south toward the Artisan Village and into a kaleidoscope of color. Artists with their paints and canvases, drawing in the street by candle and moonlight. Poets reading from their works. The Opera house open for all. It was a glorious display with humans, half-Fae, and Fae milling together as one, looking at the paintings, jewelry, glassblowing, books, and all manner of crafts.
“It’s a perfect night,” Kerrigan said, leaning into him.
“Do you know this was when I fell in love with you?”
“When?”
“When you brought me to Carmine’s for the poetry reading. I knew then that you had my heart, and I was terrified.”
“I just wanted you to experience something other than war.”
He swept back a red lock of her hair. “You gave me a new life. One I never even dreamed of in the House of Shadows.”
She flushed. “I’m glad my visions brought us together.”
“I’m of the belief that it would have happened with or without your visions,” he said with a smile.
She liked that idea very much.
“And here we are.” Fordham halted their promenade just past Carmine’s Books.
Down a small cobblestone side street stood a row of leaning townhouses. As if either side were reaching to kiss the other and never quite managing it. Every townhouse on the street had a brightly colored door—yellow, blue, pink, red, green.
“Oh, I love this street. We call it the Hall of Doors.”
“What do you think of this one?” he asked, gesturing to a townhouse with a yellow door.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s yours.”
“Mine?” she asked in confusion.
“Ours.”
“What?” she gasped.
He smirked and produced a key out of his jacket pocket. “Technically, it belongs to the House of Shadows in the city. But practically, I was hoping you would join me here, away from the mountain. A place for just the two of us.”
She blinked at him in awe and shock. “You … you bought us a house?”
His smile slipped for a second. “Was that too far? Should I not—”
But she kissed him before he finished that thought. She threw her arms around his neck and held him as tightly as possible. He laughed against her lips, drawing her closer. He closed the gap between them by wrapping his arms around her waist.
“I take it that you like it?” he said, brushing their noses together.
“I love it.”
“You haven’t been inside.”
“I love you,” she amended.
She plucked the key out of his hand and traipsed up the stairs. He followed as she fit the key into the lock.
“Have you seen it?” she asked.
He nodded. “I was looking into it before I left.”
Her heart leapt. He had been looking into a house for them before he broke the curse. Oh, she liked that a lot.
Kerrigan turned the knob and pushed the door open, throwing her light through the space. Sconces leaped to life, revealing the first floor. Her breath caught. The townhouse was empty of furniture. Just an open living room with oak hardwood floor. The dining room had metal sconces with enough room for a table and chairs. Nothing formal could fit in the space. She moved forward and found a small kitchen area and a first-floor toilet.
She followed the stairs at the back of the house to the second floor. There were three bedrooms. The first two were as bare as the downstairs. Big enough for a bed and dressers. For them to have visitors or even a small training room. Maybe a study for all of Fordham’s broody-boy poetry.
But the final room wasn’t empty.
Her breath caught when she walked inside and saw the enormous bed taking up the majority of the space. It was the only thing in the room. A glorious bed with black silk sheets and a comforter and about a thousand pillows. It attached to a bathing chamber with a sunken pool and running water.
“I love it,” she whispered.
Fordham’s arms came around her waist, and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Good. Because I want it to be our bed.”
“And here I thought, you wanted to court me properly,” she said, turning in his arms.
“Oh, I intend to.” He walked her backward until her knees hit the bedframe.
“You know proper gentlemen don’t bed their intended until the wedding night.”
“That ship has sailed already.” He kissed her hard and urgent, bending her backward toward the bed. His hands came up to grip her thighs and heft her up onto the bed.
She laughed. “So, you admit it? You’re not proper.”
“Give me tonight, and I promise to be proper in the morning.” He hiked her skirts up her thighs, his hands trailing over the bare milky skin. A kiss landed on her knee and then higher.
“Promise me something, Fordham,” she said as she sprawled open for him.
“Anything.”
“Never be proper.”
His laugh was primal as he buried his head between her legs, and she all but lost consciousness.