Page 94 of A Match Made in Error

“Do you ever tire of speaking in thinly veiled innuendos?” she quips, cheeks slightly pink like the swirling clouds in the soon-to-be night sky.

“No.” I lift her hand to my lips, pressing my scruff and lips to the back of her fingers. “And as long as it makes you smile, I never will.” My eyes pause on the party. The music from the swaying band, sweating glasses in the hands of dancing contestants, heads cast back in laughter.

“Want to dance?” Poppy asks, likely assuming I’m watching the revelry with want.

“Do you?” She doesn’t like to be the center of attention, and I’d be happy to slip into a booth in the beach clubhouse and shroud us in shadows so I can put my hands on her properly again. Without the fear of a looming pirate attack hanging over my head.

“I do.” She pauses to watch the people we’ve spent the past few weeks with. Friends. Enemies. Exes. The smile that lifts her lips makes me want to be the best version of myself. The soft lines that etch around her mouth have me thinking of a thousand tomorrows with her by my side. I’d give a lot to know what’s going on inside her head when she looks at me and her smile widens. Fate. What does she see in me?

I gather a handful of shadows in my palm and hold it up to my mouth, ready to blow them in her direction. “May I?” Her eyes pass over my mouth, waiting patiently to blow my eager shadows, and she nods. “Intro,” I whisper, before gently blowing my shadows toward the love of my life.

Yes. Love.

Should anyone be surprised?

Poppy inhales my darkness like it’s her life’s blood, head casting back and eyelids fluttering in ecstasy. A wanting, ragged breath swells in her chest, breasts heaving in the light of the lanterns. Fuck me.

“Like what you see?” Poppy’s voice floats into my mind like music on air.

I smirk. “Feel my hard-on and you answer that.”

“Riven!” The blush that paints her cheeks is stunning.

“What? No one heard that but you.”

“I guess that’s true.” She shrugs. “Be as filthy as you want. I know I will be.” I bit the inside of my lip. How stupid have I been to have this in front of me for three years and think we could only be friends?

I grab her hand once more and lead her to the dance floor. Words like most stunning man I’ve seen, how did I get so lucky, and Fate, I need him rattle around my brain alongside images of us at the hot spring last night, inflating my ego to a nearly unsafe level.

“I can hear you.” I tug her body flush with mine, draping her arms around my neck and placing my hands very low on her back, even though the music demands more space and movement than a slow dance.

“I want you to.”

“I don’t deserve you.” My lips find purchase on her smooth forehead, her hand cradling my neck as if holding me there.

“You deserve everything.”

The tempo picks up again, and I can’t help but step back and match the energy. I know it’s ridiculous, but when I see the amusement twinkling in her eyes, I swear to Fate I’ll dance every day of my life as long as she keeps looking at me like this.

“Watching you dance,” her thoughts pause as if she’s taking a deep breath in to steady herself, “that’s the first time I knew I wanted you as more than a friend.”

“Oh yeah?” I feel my eyebrows lift. “You like this?” I slice my hands through the air, sliding confidently on my feet. I bite my lip, attempting that sexy-without-trying thing while being deliberately playful. Poppy laughs, eyes tracing up and down my body like a predator assessing its prey. And I fucking love it.

“You’re staring again.” Have I ever grinned this much in my life? I spin her once and then guide her hips subtly to move in time with mine.

“If I ever stop staring while you’re moving like that, have me committed.”

I snort. “Noted.”

The fire licks heat against my back, but it barely registers. Not when she’s here. Not when the cool brush of her skin steadies something in me I didn’t know was shaking.

Fate.

I can’t believe I almost lost her.

The thought lands again—heavier this time. Real enough that my chest tightens like it’s happening all over again. The knife. The pirates. The way her name sounded in my head when I thought it might be the last time I ever said it to her. Even though I now know it wasn’t real, it still feels like it was.

We move without thinking—closer, then closer still—until there’s no space left between us. No room to pretend this is anything less than what it is. No fleeting distractions. No easy smiles or empty nights or badly timed jokes.