She wanted to carve a stone prayer to the Queen asking if she could keep this man inside her forever and ever. That she could just keep this man, period.

Griffin’s chin jutted out, his face reddening, his teeth clenching. She could feel her inner fire starting to release, which meant that he could, too. Little pinpricks of orange and sparkling gold turned her vision into a dreamy wonderland, and she loved the way Griffin appeared to her through it. Her water elemental, overlaid by flames.

They’d been together enough for him to remember what got her off, and he did it without prompting. He shoved a hand under her ass and hoisted her up, tilting her into the delicious angle that had him stroking the most perfect place inside. He held tight to her, not letting her drop, driving into her with increased force. Increased speed.

She rode it out, arms thrust to the side, hips high in the air, legs holding on to the man driving into her. She felt utterly powerless, a slave to the fire and the man who held her body so perfectly . . . and it was the greatest feeling in the world.

When she came again, the fire rolled through her with such force she thought she might ignite. She’d take the bed and the B and B and all of the Big Island with her, and not even the great Fire Source could match the way he was making her feel.

Her throat went raw with the sounds she made. Fire licked behind her eyelids, because she couldn’t keep them open any longer. The conflagration at last began to peter out, but the experience wasn’t over, because Griffin roared as he came. She distinctly felt him tighten and swell, the stroke of him turning into a wonderful rhythm.

Then he was cool inside her, a splash of water. An ocean of peace and power.

When at last he withdrew and lowered her ass back to the bed, she was numb to everything but the gentle rub of his skin against hers. Maybe it was hours later—maybe it was minutes—but she was still lying there, held in his arms, one of his hands stroking down her hair, one leg thrown over her thighs, claiming her.

Despite her best intentions, despite her wishes and dreams and all that she knew she must do tomorrow, she let herself be taken.

Regrettably, the sun rose.

Griffin opened his eyes to find Keko already awake. She lay on her back naked, her long, strong legs crossed at the ankles, fingers interlaced over her belly. Her dark nipples rose and fell as she breathed, and he found that he could still taste them on his tongue.

Her head was turned on the pillow toward him, a thick chunk of black hair swooping over her ear and under her chin to make a dark line across her neck. Despite the new light coming through the curtains, her eyes were somber and shadowed, and they absorbed everything. No amount of water magic could save him from drowning in her fire, and it did not frighten him. He reached out and covered her hands with one of his, giving her a mild tug, a subtle hint that he wanted her arms around him. On him. It had the opposite effect.

Instead of Keko rolling into him, she yanked away from his touch. Throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, she pressed her hands to the mattress. He stared at her back and triceps, at the shadowed lines between her muscles, at the sexy dimples above her ass.

Then he noticed the way she was almost gasping for breath. “Keko?”

So many things had happened between them last night, many of which he’d never be able to name, nor would he ever want to. They were singular occurrences, precious seconds and moments that could never be repeated. He’d distinctly felt, in a triumphant instant, when all the walls between them had been completely demolished, crackling into a zillion pieces. Even that final wall had come down—the one he’d been trying to remove slowly, brick by brick—and he’d nearly shouted with relief. With her body surrounding his, he sensed that she’d decided to turn back from her quest. He’d drifted into sleep holding on to that final thought, that he’d succeeded in keeping her alive. Keeping her with him.

But now, with daylight striking the tension in her back, he knew she’d reconsidered. In her own sleep she’d rebuilt that last wall and had awakened with renewed purpose. No matter what had happened between them, she was going to head for that island. She was still going to try for the Source.

And he couldn’t be the one to stop her.

Sitting up, he positioned himself behind her but didn’t touch her rigid body. He feared what he might say, so he didn’t speak.

When she finally opened her mouth, she spoke to the floor between her knees. “I don’t want to be the Queen anymore. And I don’t want to die.”

He couldn’t help it; his heart soared. The stars seemed to blink all around him, sparkling motes in the daylight, as though they’d answered his prayers to make her change her mind. They would figure out another way to both help her people and mollify the Children of Earth. They would—

“But if I don’t make it,” she added quietly, “I want you to know something first.”

He gripped handfuls of bedspread. The air stilled around them. He could barely breathe. “What?”

“That I l—” She looked down, chin to chest. When she raised her head, he couldn’t see her face. Only the generic painting of a breaching humpback whale on the opposite wall had that privilege.

She said, “I love you.”

The words hit him like an arrow, slicing through skin and bone to reach his heart. He released the bedspread and lifted a hand, his palm hovering just above her shoulder blade, her heat a beacon.

His hand descended, wanting to tell her with a touch that he felt the same. Perhaps more, if that was even possible. But before he could make contact she bolted from the bed and lunged for the bathroom. The door slammed behind her, the click of the lock following two seconds later. The shower came on, full blast.

The euphoria died with her exit.

She loved him. He’d come here to stop her and had lied his way into her presence.

She loved him. He was withholding from her a terrible piece of information about the severity of the Source and its capability for destruction.

She loved him. He absolutely understood what she had to do to save her people.

She loved him. He loved her.

Nothing good could come of it.

Fuck.

 • • •

Keko never spent this long underwater. She’d never wanted to. But her fingers and toes had gone pale and wrinkled, and she still made no effort to remove her hands from where they were braced on the shower wall. Still didn’t want to duck out of the spray hitting her body and covering it in smooth sheets.

Her head dropped and the water shot over her skull, crawling over her shoulders and down her back. Between her legs. She imagined being back under the waterfall in the ravine. She imagined Griffin sliding all around her.

Mighty Queen, she prayed silently, why didn’t you tell me love was such a weakness? Why didn’t you tell me it could be such a strength?

Keko had nearly quit her quest last night. Griffin had been moving inside her and she’d looked up at him and actually thought to herself, I can’t do it. I can’t leave him. I can’t chance ending this.

Then she realized that even though the distinct emotion she felt emanating from him was very real, it was all still part of his argument to get her to abandon her quest. It didn’t matter that he knew her true reason for going after the Source, or even if he agreed with her; he hadn’t made any vow to stop trying to get her to turn around. Last night he said he would think about tomorrow, tomorrow. Well, tomorrow was here, and she thought that when she stepped out of this bathroom he might use her confession of love against her. He might touch her and beg her not to chance death. For him.