-Ronan Hale:
I shouldn't be thinking about it.
I really shouldn't.
But damn it, I was.
That kiss.
Elara's lips were still burned into my memory, soft and warm and smug. Because of course, she was smug. She never shut up, never let anything go, and now she had proof that she was right about me. That I wanted her.
And maybe I did.
Maybe I wanted to know what else she'd make me feel if I let her.
I glanced at her across the table. She was talking—of course—but I wasn't listening. My eyes traced over her face, the way the candlelight flickered against her skin.
She was beautiful. Not in the delicate, fragile way most people would think of. No, Elara was fire and stubbornness, with sharp edges, and bright laughter. Her hair, that gorgeous shade of red, caught the light like flames, falling in wild waves around her shoulders. And those eyes—warm, green, filled with mischief and something else I couldn't quite place.
I wanted to know what that something else was.
