Wildest Dreams (Fantasyland #1)(132)

Frey grinned and replied, “It’s true.”

“That’s crazy.” I was still whispering.

“Indeed it is, my wee one, but it’s still true.”

Oh my God.

“I’m going to cry,” I announced, my voice trembling with the evidence that proved my statement true.

Frey’s grin became a smile and his eyes warmed. “I see that, love.”

My breath hitched and a tear slid out of the side of my eye before I demanded on a weak shove at his shoulder, “You have to quit making me cry.”

He dropped his head and slid his nose along mine as he muttered, “I’ll work on that.”

I looked at his olive green eyes close up knowing without a doubt he was so totally not going to work on that.

I held on tight and lifted my head, pressing it into his neck. He rolled, disengaging our bodies but taking me to the top where one of his arms stayed closed around me and his other hand stroked my back as I wept softly in his neck.

I didn’t cry long because I thought of something, pulled myself together, lifted up on a forearm in his chest and looked down at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“You did not know?” Frey asked back and I blinked.

“What?”

His brows drew together and he studied me. “Wee one, how could you not know?”

“I –” I started.

“It was clear as day,” he declared and I had to admit, that was true. Mostly.

“You still could have told me,” I informed him.

“Indeed,” he stated and his arm gave me a squeeze, “as you could have done. Why didn’t you tell me you cared so deeply for me?”

Shit. He knew I’d been holding back.

“Well,” I began, “it was clear as day.”

He grinned and muttered, “Right.”

“Well it was!” I snapped because, truthfully, it was and his grin turned to body rocking laughter as he rolled me again so I was on my back and he was pressed to my side looking down at me.

When he controlled his hilarity, he remarked, “Well, it is said now, thank the gods.”

“Yes,” I bit my lip and stared up at his handsome face. “It is,” I continued on a whisper. “And it’s funny because the first moment I saw you, you terrified me.” I watched a shadow pass over his face and instantly I lifted my hand to rest against his cheek and went on, “But looking at you now I cannot for the life of me understand why.” I slid my thumb along his cheekbone, pulled in a light breath and said it again, “I love you, Frey Drakkar.”

His eyes closed and his forehead dropped to rest against mine before he opened his eyes again, stared into mine and replied, “And I you, Finnie Drakkar.

I circled him with my arms and rolled into him so we were on our sides, face to face. Then I held him tight as he returned the favor.

“So much,” he murmured belatedly, “I’ll never stop loving you, my winter bride. Not ever. You, everything about you is beyond my wildest dreams.”

I closed my eyes hard as those words settled around my heart and I shoved my face in his throat and pressed my body deep, held on tighter and my strong husband absorbed my fierce embrace.

Then I smiled against his skin because at that moment, I rocketed straight up and hit the bell with a loud clang at the bliss end of the happiness scale, embedding myself in a way I knew would be forever.

* * * * *

Valentine Rousseau’s eyes opened and she stared at the dark ceiling.

Then she slid out of bed, leaving the young, slumbering, firm, naked, male form in it.

Bending gracefully, her red-tipped fingers tagged the slip of green silk and lace off the floor. She pulled it over her head and the soft material slithered down her body.

Then she moved out of her bedroom, down the hall and to the room with the salmon-colored walls. She did not bother herself with turning on a light but glided across the room and stood at the small, round table on which the large, clear, smooth, round crystal sat on top of a bed of jade green silk.

The tips of her fingers skimmed the ball and instantly a wisp of jade smoke curled inside the crystal.

She stared at its glow through the dark and felt her mouth grow tight.

Just as she thought.

What she didn’t understand was why she cared. Cared so much it woke her.

“Annoying,” she murmured as the smoke twisted, coiled and curved. “Why are lovers so… very… obtuse?” she asked the ball, it had no answer so she went on, “Especially men.”

Valentine took in a delicate, displeased breath.

Always misunderstandings, never enough communication, expectation, pride, blind faith.

Not to mention, making life-altering decisions without even considering whose life it would be altering.

It was ridiculous.

Valentine studied the smoke, sighed and thought of Seoafin, her goddess of love.

Really, she should simply let it play out, wash her hands of it; there was nothing she could do. The magic binding Seoafin there was so strong, even Valentine couldn’t break it and, unusually, she expended some effort to find an answer to this dilemma, though, admittedly, not much. Valentine Rousseau rarely expended effort on anything someone didn’t compensate her for, except, of course, one of her toys.

She definitely expended effort on her toys.