The Sunspire [m] Lying in the dark with a wake curled over my head

The luckiest man in the world.
But she was the lucky one, wasn't she? Lucky because she knew that her heart would be safe with him, that he would be gentle with the most tender parts of her now left bare and shivering with the slightest breeze. Lucky because he'd found her, because he'd come to love her, because he'd given his own heart just as readily and promised forever in the same breath.
And forever was nothing like what she'd once imagined. Boone was not a man of pretty words, not so delicate and silkspun; he was all raw unfiltered emotion, all flickering silver flame, a heat that soothed her and threatened to consume her all at once. Maybe that was what she'd needed all along: a match to the wildfire of her own spirit.
I love you, Reverie murmured again, again, again, melting into his arms; pouring herself into him until she could no longer define where she ended and he began. It didn't matter anymore. There on the Sunspire, so high above the rest of the world that it hardly seemed real, she pressed the fading embers of her heart into his hands and watched them burst back to flame.