18

Lyra

The dry leaves rustled as I strode into the garden. The bright sea of poppies radiates in the morning breeze, and my fingers brushed across the delicate petals.

The heavy, sweet, powdery perfume of wild lavenders grew strong as my gaze glanced through the field of flowers.

I sensed a stronger scent behind me, but before I could turn, a gentle hand slid along my back and around my waist. The big hand traveled beneath my dress, sending shivers down my spine.

The touch seemed familiar, and the garden, I could tell, I had been there a couple of times.

He hugged me, and his breath brushed my...