Chapter 2

The golden hour had bled into the bruised purple of twilight, casting long, dramatic shadows across the hay bales that lined the perimeter of the outdoor archery range. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine needles, a sharp contrast to the warm, heavy body heat radiating from him. I stood near the edge of the covered pavilion, the wood beneath my bare feet cool against the rising chill of the evening. My dress—a slip of silk the color of crushed berries—clung to my curves, dampened slightly by the sweat of the afternoon’s exertion. I had changed quickly in the small, dimly lit prep room adjacent to the main scoring area, trading the practical, fitted athletic wear for something far more treacherous. He was leaning against a thick oak pillar, arms crossed over his chest, watching me. That was the thing about him; he never looked away. Even when he wasn’t speaking, his gaze was a physical weight, tracing the line of my throat, the swell of my hips, the way the fabric pooled around my ankles. I could feel the heat of his eyes on my skin, a tangible pressure that made my nipples harden