He didn't move. She slid the heavy fabric from his shoulders slowly, aware of every breath between them.
His scent—clean, laced with something sharp and magnetic—wrapped around her. Her fingers touched his sleeves, moving toward the first button. She fumbled.
He leaned down, voice smooth. "We'll be standing here all night if I let you undress me."
She turned away immediately, flushing.
"Speaking of being bold…" he murmured behind her.
She grumbled under her breath. "Such a sly wit."
His lips twitched into a half-smile.
By the time she looked again, he was bare from the waist up, his pale skin gleaming under the moonlight. He stepped silently into the lake, trousers on, the water lapping against his thighs.
"Grantham," he called without looking back.
She blinked.
"Come in."
"I—Julian, I…"
"It's my private garden," he said, glancing over his shoulder. His brow raised. "You do say you're bold."
