Page 11 of Perfume Girl

His gaze roamed over me. “We were.”

“Where did we go wrong?” I whispered.

“Don’t.”

“It’s all a blur.”

One minute we were the kind of couple our friends envied, the type who took romantic boat trips out on the bay, enjoyed candle-lit dinners we cooked together, and had the kind of PDA that made our friends blush. It all ended too soon.

Damien leaned down. “You smell amazing,” he whispered.

“It’s not finished. I’m wearing it to inspire myself.”

And you’ve lost the formula.

“God, what I wouldn’t do to taste you one more time,” he said huskily.

I glared up at him.

“Yeah, don’t give me that look. You love it when I talk dirty.”

He was so right. My flesh tingled, nipples tightening, my core responding to the way he pressed his chest to mine.

The ache in my heart suddenly returned, and I stepped away from him. “I want…”

“Yes?”

“I want to forget seeing you with Embry. There’s no erasing it.” I blinked back tears.

He frowned. “Wanna know why we didn’t work out?”

“I’ve met her,” I snapped. “Mid-fuck, so I can guess it has a lot to do with her body.”

“What I have with Embry isn’t superficial. She’s smart and funny—”

“Great at guessing when there’s a storm coming!”

Quite literally, because Damien had fallen for Miami’s TV Weather Girl—excuse me—meteorologist. With her tight dresses and suggestive smiles, the bombshell had a knack for flirting and had stolen my man with a wave of her manicured hand.

Why no one had named a hurricane after her was beyond me.

“You were never spontaneous,” he replied tersely. “You always needed advance warning to do anything fun.”

“Sometimes it’s good to be cautious,” I reasoned.

“You can’t live like that.”

“And what you did to me proved I was right to be wary. You betrayed me in the worst kind of way.”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“No.”

“Hit the gym.”

“Fuck off.”

“This is my kitchen. You fuck off.”