She felt more than heard his exhale. A moment later, his hand found hers in the grass.
"That's why you don't trust charm," he said.
"That's why I don't trust charm."
"And yet here you are. With me."
She turned her head, meeting his gaze. His golden-brown eyes were soft and unguarded in a way she was starting to recognize as precious.
"Here I am," she agreed. "Terrified."
"Of me?"
"Of how much I don't want to leave."
The words hung between them. She hadn't meant to say that much, to reveal that much. But something about Thallos—about the way he looked at her, about the safety she felt when he was near—made honesty feel less dangerous.
He lifted her hand to his lips. Pressed a kiss to her knuckles, gentle and reverent.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "And I'm not going to ask you to, either."
"You can't know that."
"I can know what I want. And what I want is this. You. Here. For as long as you'll have me."
God. How was she supposed to resist this? How was she supposed to maintain walls that had already started crumbling the moment he'd asked her to dance in front of the entire town?
She leaned in, slow enough to give him time to pull away. He didn't. His free hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing over her cheekbone with devastating tenderness.
The kiss was soft. Sweet. A question rather than a demand. They had kissed over the past week, but they'd kept it light, or at least they'd tried to. She knew he was giving her time, but suddenly she didn't want more time.
She leaned into him. His arms came around her, pulling her into his lap, and suddenly soft became something else entirely. Something hungry and hot and absolutely necessary. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging him closer, and he made a sound against her mouth that she felt all the way down to her toes.
*This,* she thought. *This is what I want.*
His mouth left hers to trail down her neck, finding that spot below her ear that made her gasp. His hands—those clever, gentle hands—slid beneath her shirt, warm against the skin of her lower back.
"Marigold." Her name was a prayer. "Tell me if you need to stop."
"Don't stop."
He growled—a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through her chest—and then he was kissing her again, deeper and more demanding. She met him kiss for kiss, overwhelmed by sensation but not afraid, not this time. This time she was right where she wanted to be.
When he pulled back, they were both breathing hard.
"As much as I'd love to continue this," he said, voice rough, "we're in a meadow. In the middle of the afternoon. With a vineyard full of employees who could come looking for me."
She glanced around. They were mostly hidden by the tall grass, but not completely. And while the idea of being caught should have mortified her, she found she mostly just didn't want to share this moment with anyone else. But still…
"I don't want to stop." She pulled back just enough to look at him properly, to make sure he understood. "I'm tired of being careful. I'm tired of holding back because I'm scared of what might happen. I want—" She broke off, suddenly uncertain how to articulate the ache that had been building for days.
"Tell me what you want."
"You. I want you. I want—" She gestured helplessly. "More. All of it. Whatever this is between us, I want to stop running from it."
For a long moment, he just looked at her. Then a smile spread across his face—not his usual charming grin, but something deeper. Truer.
"Not today," he said.
