Of Heirs and Havoc ✔️ | Of Crimes and Crowns Book 2

forty : of lightning and love

Francisco threw himself on top of Victoria, both of them pressed flush against each other and a still-standing tree, just as they watched a dead one narrowly miss their feet. Both of them were panting heavily; he could feel her breath, could sense her pulse. Warm, alive, even if she was glaring coldly like she wished he were dead.

"What are you to me?" he whispered, repeating the question and still keeping her against him. He couldn't let her go. Not just yet. "Victoria, what are you not? You are... you woke me up from this life that I've been living, this half-life where I was nothing more than a shadow and a ghost. You showed me what it is to really live, not just to be manipulated by others but to choose my own path. You are the reason that I picked Arlea over my sister. You are the woman who was wounded but not broken, attacked but not shattered. You are a survivor, and you are the woman I want by my side for the rest of my life, Tori. I love you. That is what you are to me."

She choked on something like a sob. His hand rose to cup the back of her head and bring her face to rest in the crook of his shoulder, his palm pressed against the wet curls of her hair. Victoria complied, her body soft and pliant against his for once—not challenging, not resisting. Somehow, that hurt him more than if she had been struggling. Because maybe that spirit had been hurt more, damaged more, than he knew.

Then she looked up at him, those green eyes glossy with tears but her full lips curving into a smile. And he thought maybe that was the expression that made him fall in love with her: that light in the midst of darkness, that fierce stubbornness and willfulness unlike that of any girl he'd met before. The recalcitrance which with she faced life had inspired him, had shaken him to the core, and it had been the catalyst for his defiance of Celeste.

"Francisco?" she whispered.

"Yes, Victoria?" He replied.

"You picked a really terrible time to tell me you love me," she murmured, and they both dissolved into laughter, moving closer to each other.

"That's all you have to say to me?" He asked with a chuckle, his mouth against her forehead, where her damp curls were sticking to her skin. "I expected you to be a little more..."

She laughed harder at his comment, then spoke. "Romantic?"

He pulled her closer, looking into her green eyes. "No," he said softly, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone. "I love you just the way you are."

"What a coincidence." Her teeth glowed in the dark night, and her pulse beneath his fingers felt like it was beating in time with the faint pounding of the surf on the beach: steady, constant, powerful. "I feel that way for you."

His lips touched hers once, hesitantly, before she reciprocated. Her fingers twining at the nape of his neck, her form flush against his, he let his hands drop to her waist and tug her even closer. Her teeth dug into his lower lip, her back arching up into his. Their first kiss had been gentle, light, utterly chaste despite both of their less-than-immaculate reputations. This one was all fire and passion, love mixing with lust to set them both ablaze, sparks flying between them as surely as any of lightning bolts that pierced through the heavy, dark clouds.

Thunder rumbled above them, threatening yet another downpour to increase the amount of water already falling from the sky. It startled him, kept him from further entangling himself up in her, getting lost in the scent of her hair—fresh grass and rain—and the taste on her tongue. He broke away, using every ounce of willpower in his body to do so. "We need to... find shelter for the night."

Her green eyes snapped open, wild and scared, pupils dilated with desire and a touch of panic. "Can't we go back to the manor?"

He turned to his left, in the direction of the house, just as lightning flashed and illuminated the fallen tree. There was no way they would be able to get over that, and they couldn't find an alternate route in this storm. However, he was fairly certain he knew one place they couldn't spend the night...

"There is a treehouse nearby that Celeste and I used to play in as children," he told her, rubbing his hands over her arms when he heard her teeth chatter and saw her shiver with cold. "We may have to take refuge there."

"How... s-scandalous." She was really cold now, drenched in rain as she was. He didn't fare much better as he wrapped his arms around her, leading her over to the childhood shelter. "What will the ton say?"

"I don't care what they say as long as we both do not die of hypothermia," he retorted. "Ensure me, your reputation would not be at stake from me. I am a perfect gentleman, and intend to marry you."

She laughed, her body vibrating against his as Francisco guided her over to the treehouse's makeshift rope ladder. "Ladies first, Tori."

He helped her up, watching to ensure that she had safely hoisted herself onto the rickety wooden structure before he did the same. They situated themselves on the surprisingly planks of wood, and Francisco found a few musty, but fairly clean, blankets with which they could lie on and towel off. He turned around to give Victoria privacy as she squeezed water out of her hair and took off the outer layers of her gown, leaving herself in a slightly damp shift. Francisco stared at the thatched roof to avoid the temptation of her body, so close to his.

"Are you going to dry off as well?"

There was a coyness to her tone. She knew exactly what she was doing. He took a blanket and suppressed a silent groan, as rain pounded on the roof and the trees around them. This would be a long night.