Dean stared at her face, glowing like a pearl under the dim lights. Her small, pink face, the cute, slightly reddened nose, those tender red lips – as she leaned over to pour him a drink, it felt less like she was serving wine, and more like she was about to kiss him.
Dean's slender fingers tightened around his glass, his knuckles whitening. The faint scent of her perfume mixed with the aroma of the wine was damn enticing.
He was sensitive to smells, rarely finding one he liked. It was rare for him to find a scent he didn't reject. Even his family's scents were merely tolerable to him.
A long time ago, he stopped being close to his family.
But the scent on Joy, he found it pleasant. He even knew he was somewhat addicted to it.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have thought about marriage.
Joy, smiling, watched him. His deep, dark eyes seemed to suck her in, as if compelled by some magic force to move closer.
