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Talasyn flashed Alaric a small, hopeful smile. “Pretty, isn’t it?” Strands of chestnut hair had spilled loose from her braid and were blowing in the wind. The sun brought out the gold in her eyes and danced atop the freckles on her softly rounded cheeks. He was looking at her when he said, “Yes.”
“First of all,” he said through gritted teeth, “I don’t know how to react to you. You are infuriating and self-righteous and you get under my skin. Secondly, there have never been any other women—there was never anyone before you—and much to my dismay you have provoked me so much that you’ve wormed your way into my dreams. You are the only one who plagues them. And one last thing”—his voice lowered into a growl—“the next time I kiss you, I want to remember it.”
“This,” Alaric continued, “doesn’t have to be anything more than it is. There is obviously an attraction between us. While that does move our marriage beyond the merely political, I don’t believe there would be much harm in acting on it from time to time. Until the attraction runs its course.”

