Daphne laughed through her tears when he drew her closer again, her fingers still trembling against his shoulders.
Alaric's eyes, dark and unblinking, searched hers like a man on his knees before a goddess.
He rose, but instead of stepping back he brought her fully against him, his hands sliding to her waist.
His breath came ragged, uneven.
"I've wanted to do this here for so long," he murmured.
Her heart gave a wild leap as she felt his fingers trail up her spine to the back of her dress, unzipping, his lips tracing a slow, reverent path along her temple.
It wasn't like the storm of their other nights, there was no fury, no jealous edge, only a burning devotion and unbelievable gentleness.
The water whispered, the orchids swayed.
He touched her as if the world was gone and only she existed.
She realised then, as his lips moved to her throat, as his hands framed her face, what he meant to do.
Her breath hitched. "Alaric… here? Someone might..."
