She pressed against him, her fingers curling around the collar of his shirt.
“You alright?” he murmured, brushing her flaxen hair back.
Helen nodded, eyes bright.
His mouth returned to her, slow. His lips found the edge of her jaw, then lower, her collarbone. His fingers traced the embroidery of her bodice until he reached the swell of her breast. Her heart pounded a stuttering rhythm beneath his palm.
His breath came fast and ragged. The heat seeping through her dress wrapped around him, making his head spin.
She was flushed and focused, and slid her hands beneath the open edge of his shirt. One by one, she undid the buttons, then pressed her lips against his chest.
He stilled, his heart drumming like thunder in his ears.
Her fingers found the laces of her bodice. She worked them loose. He kissed her again, gently, then more deeply.
His belt came off, then his shirt, the warm summer breeze whispering across his bare shoulders. He helped pull her dressover her head. She giggled lightly as it caught beneath her chin. Then she was standing in just a lace-trimmed shift, her face flushed like sunset kissing her skin.
When she tugged up on the hem, he stilled her hands.
Not from hesitation—but from awe. Not from lust, but from the look in her eyes.
She trusted him.
More than he trusted himself.
He stood and tugged her to her feet.
“Come with me,” he said, voice a little hoarse.
She blinked. “Where?”
He nodded toward the lake, where the water lapped gently against the shore, sunlight fractured across its surface like broken glass.
“We’re overheating. And you’re dangerous like this.” His smile curled, teasing—but his eyes stayed soft.
Helen’s brow lifted in amusement. “So now I’m dangerous?”
“Absolutely lethal.”
She laughed and followed him down the bank, the grass cool beneath his feet.
He waded in first, the cold water swirling around his calves. He didn’t flinch—just gave a quiet exhale, like it grounded him.
She stepped in beside him, gasping as the water lapped up her legs. Her shift clung instantly, delicate lace edging gone transparent, clinging to the lines of her thighs.
He caught the breath in his throat before it could become a sound.
She was like every summer day he’d ever wanted to keep—wind-tousled, skin dewed with heat and water, that shy-smiling mouth curved now in a shape like challenge.
He looked—and didn’t look away.
“You all right?” he asked, voice low.
Helen glanced down at herself, then up at him. “A bit cold.”
He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Could warm you up.”
She arched a brow. “You offering?”
