Page 5 of Perfume Girl

There was no regret in her fresh-faced expression. “I know I shouldn’t,” she admitted.

“What’s your name?”

“Skye.”

“You want me to call you later, Skye?” I flipped the coaster between my thumb and forefinger. “After your shift?’

She batted her eyelids flirtatiously. “If you like.”

“And then take you out on a date?” I leaned back, intrigued by her forwardness.

“Sure.” She pressed a tray to her chest as though it were a shield.

“And then?” I coaxed.

“Then?”

“I would take you to a luxurious setting where a bed would be waiting and then bring you so much pleasure I would ruin you for all other men.” I shrugged. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Maybe there’d be more?”

“More?”

“Maybe we’d get along and things would become serious?”

“And then boredom would set in. A kind of slow death.”

She chewed her lip, seemingly annoyed by the way I’d rounded out our tedious future.

I leaned forward. “Can I let you in on a secret?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly, her tone breathy.

“Before you commit to any time spent with me go readDante’s Inferno, it’s a reasonable preview.” Noting her frown, I added, “It’s a fourteenth century poem—”

“I know what it is.”

“Good. I desire nothing more than to take you through Purgatory—and if you pass that level, Heaven—”

She looked shocked. “The next one’s Hell.”

“So it is.”

Her confliction turned to consideration.

“Welcome to Purgatory,” I said matter-of-factly. “How’s it looking from the cheap seats?”

She reached for the coaster and snatched it back. She hurried away, turning her head to glance over her shoulder at me with a seductive smile to hide her embarrassment.

I wasn’t in the habit of seducing spring-breakers and then decimating their hearts. No, I preferred a different kind of woman altogether. Someone older, more confident—a woman with verve who would not be threatened by my desire to ravish her into oblivion.

I’d been kind to Skye. Maybe it was the ocean air that had brought out my congenial side and my decision not to ruin her.

A slender woman hurried toward me in an inspiring flurry of frenetic energy. Penelope’s stride grew faster when she saw me. “Am I late?”

I tucked my phone into my jacket and gave her my usual look of disapproval, which she dutifully earned on a daily basis.

I’d made the best use of my time by answering emails, sending off texts to my staff at The House of Beauregard, and had even gone over our sales numbers. Our business was thriving and we were fast becoming a front-runner. However, the competition was always hot on our heels. There were too many perfumers out there with vintage scents that had garnered loyal customers. The same customers I was going to steal away from them with my superior products.