Chapter Fifty Six: Let Me Make Love To You

Two days later, Lyra stared up at him with consternation. “You have to be

joking.”

“Come on,” Viktor wheedled, holding out his hand beneath the hot

afternoon sunshine. “You said you wanted to do it.”

Glancing back at the tallest sand dune, she licked her lips. “I said it

looked fun in theory.”

“You know you want to.” Wind ruffled his tousled black hair as he smiled

down at her. He was casually dressed, in a well-worn black T-shirt that

hugged his muscular chest and large, taut biceps and low-slung jeans on his hips. He looked relaxed and younger than she’d ever seen him. He lifted a

dark eyebrow wickedly. “You’re not scared, are you?”

Lyra licked her lips. When he looked at her with that mischievous smile,

he made her want to agree to absolutely anything.

But—this?

Furrowing her brow, she looked behind her. Three young Berber boys,

around twelve or thirteen years old, were using brightly colored snowboards

to careen down the sand, whooping and hollering in Berber, the primary

language