The closer Leonor came to him, the more Desmond internally reeled.
As if she was fire herself, his heart raced and he felt like danger was close. She had a way of igniting all of his senses.
Even from how close she sat to him, he could smell her. When her hand raised and she reached for his face, the soap she used to bathe herself that day permeated his nose. He recalled her making fun of overly perfumed women and making sure her bathroom was only stocked with light-smelling scents.
They were subtle enough not to attract unwanted attention but he could pick out that scent in a crowd with little effort.
He stared at her in horror as she got even closer and he felt his core clench when her soft hand met the scarred side of his face. It was undoubtedly illuminated by the fire.
There was especially no hiding when Leonor pushed off his hood and he had to overcome his desire to escape.
