His gaze dropped to the peach in her hand… then slowly lifted to her mouth… then to her eyes.
"Careful," he said quietly. "That one isn't fully ripe."
His hand came up — not touching her, not quite — hovering just long enough to guide her wrist slightly to the side, as if adjusting the angle.
The brush of his knuckles against her skin was barely there, yet it still felt like full contact.
"Try that one instead," he murmured, reaching past her shoulder to pluck another fruit from the branch above.
The movement caged her in for a heartbeat — his arm braced beside her head, his body blocking the light, the scent of him suddenly everywhere.
Then he stepped back and placed the peach in her palm.
Warm from the sun.
Unlike his hand.
"Why?" Lara asked softly.
His eyes narrowed. "Why what?"
"Why did you really bring me here?"
The orchard fell silent, as if it was holding its breath, even the birds were listening.
For a long moment, Ares said nothing.
