"I love what your scent does to me," Alaric murmured, his voice thick and heavy with something unidentifiable—exhaustion? Sleep? Or was it desire?
How did he know she wasn't asleep? Salviana wondered, peeking at him from under her lashes. And why was he talking to her now? She'd thought he hated her; he hadn't even joined her for dinner.
Turning slowly, she found his dark eyes watching her, somehow darker than usual. Ignoring the unsettling intensity in his gaze, she asked softly, "What do I smell like?"
Alaric's mouth curved faintly as he climbed into the bed beside her. "Your scent doesn't have a single note to it—it's not something I can name. It's more… a feeling," he whispered.
She blinked, curious and intrigued. "A feeling? Enlighten me."
