Pinned but Fluttering

Chapter 48

     “As I love you,” Edward replied in a soft voice, his black eyes burning into mine with utter contentment as he slid the ring onto my finger, then pressed a kiss to the back of my hand.

     My silent heart did a flip.

     I swear it did. Seriously.

     Gracefully Edward got to his feet, opening his arms wide as I flew into them. Laughing with sheer joy as we embraced, he spun me around in two perfect circles before gently setting me on my feet again.

     Our eyes met, and it was as if someone had lit a fire of passion in us at exactly the same moment. Before the thought could even pass through my quick-as-lightning mind, Edward’s lips were hungrily moving against mine, and we both moaned softly as I opened my lips to his silent questing.

     My hands were buried in the soft hair at the nape of his neck while he gathered me so close that if I were still human, I doubt I would have survived. But now I gloried in his joyfully fierce embrace as we kissed each other shamelessly.   

     And of course, the kiss was perfect. The heat rising from the friction of our cold lips could not compare to the fire blazing within us both.

     A moment later, Edward backed me against something and made of stone that was even colder than he was, his lips continuing to devour mine and mine his. Only the sound of a quiet cracking noise broke the kiss…on Edward’s part at least.

     At the sound, sanity seemed to return to him, and he straightened up slowly, kissing gently up my jawbone, along my hairline, and across my forehead, giving us both a chance to calm a little and re-engage speech.

     “I’ll have to fix that,” Edward murmured, nodding toward the cracked river rock edifice between kisses.

     “Fix what?” I asked dreamily, not really caring.

     “The chimney.”

     Puzzled, I pulled back from his gentle kisses. “Chimney?”  I asked, confused.

     Edward took me by both hands and pulled me back toward the little garden gate we had entered by. “Look,” he said, gesturing toward the small building in front of us.

     A perfect little stone cottage, right out of a fairy tale, was somehow nestled here, right in the middle of the forest. Surrounded by a traditional white picket fence covered with clambering Cecil Bruner roses in the palest pink, with fragrant honeysuckle blooming white and golden over the arched entry, the garden surrounding the cottage was magical by itself. Foxgloves waved under the windows and against the stone walls, and ivy trailed up one side of the cottage and over part of the roof. In the center of the old-fashioned, English-style garden, the stone cottage looked as if it, too, had risen from the ground as part of the garden, growing there over the years.

     “Whose house is this?” I breathed, continuing before he could reply. “You couldn’t have brought me to a more romantic spot if you had planned for months, Edward. It’s perfect.”