Prince's Fire by Amy Raby Page B

shark can swim us to safety.”
    Prince Rayn swam to the opposite side of the shark and wrapped his arms around it.
    Celeste sent another suggestion:
I want to swim to shore, fast.
    The shark took off like a bullet, dragging them through the water.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Rayn stumbled onto the sand, exhausted, pushing an even more defeated Celeste in front of him. This was a disaster, every bit of it. They’d reached land; he no longer had to worry about drowning. But the ship was gone, and they were stranded gods knew where, possibly many miles from civilization. Staggering, he tripped over a piece of driftwood. “Let’s stop here. Sustaining fire magic that long drains me. I’ve got to sleep.”
    Celeste trudged onward, her clothes sodden, her shoulders drooping. “We can’t stop yet. The tide line.”
    He blinked, bleary-eyed, at where she pointed. She was right. High tide would flood them out. He picked up the piece of driftwood beneath his feet and lurched forward. “Grab some wood. We’ll need a fire.”
    When they’d reached a suitable spot beyond the tide line, he dropped their driftwood into a pile and went to fetch more. She added hers, and in a short while they had enough for a small fire.
    He eyed her bedraggled dress and began to strip off his clothes. “Get undressed.”
    She raised a protective hand to her chest.
    â€œI’m not taking advantage. Your clothes are wet. You need them off so you can warm up without my magic, because I’m going to be asleep in a minute.”
    She blushed, though her lips were nearly blue from the cold. “Turn around.”
    Ridiculous. As if he wasn’t going to see her one way or another. Even so, he turned his back on her. He set the driftwood alight with a last gasp of his magic. Then he stripped off his clothes and laid them on the sand to dry.
    â€œI’m ready now,” said Celeste. “Don’t look.”
    How could he not look? They would be sleeping together. “Just come here. I’m falling over from exhaustion, and right now I couldn’t care less what you look like. Political marriage, remember?”
    Tentatively, she approached. He bade her lie as close to the fire as she safely could, and settled himself behind her, spooning her so that he blanketed her back with the warmth of his own body. He wrapped his arms around her, avoiding her breasts. He intended nothing untoward. He just wanted them to survive the night.
    Within moments, he dropped into unconsciousness.

9
    W hen Celeste woke, she was aware of a couple of things in quick succession. First, she was lying naked in the arms of an equally naked Prince Rayn. And second, he was no longer in the flaccid state he’d been in the night before. She couldn’t see him now, since she was facing away from him, but she felt him, huge and hard against her bottom.
    He had exactly the body she’d imagined: sturdy and muscled, powerful from head to toe. Now those strong arms hugged her close, one of them snaking under, half-burrowed in the sand, the other encircling her waist from above. A breeze feathered the smattering of blond hairs on his forearm. She wanted to touch him, run her hands over the fascinating contradiction that was the male body—
his
body—all softness and hardness, vulnerability and strength. But it wouldn’t be fair to wake him. The man had found her in the ocean, warmed the water, and saved her life. He’d earned his rest. Besides, if he woke up, he’d see her own naked body.
    The fire had died down. She was chilly where her skin was exposed to the air, which made her anxious. She hated being cold. But it wasn’t so bad that she couldn’t bear it. And Rayn might warm her when he woke, or if his magic needed more rest, they could build up the fire. For now, she shivered and waited.
    Rayn shifted. Not from waking, she thought—he seemed to be making