CAINE
The roses are a problem. Cloying and floral, when all I want to smell is blueberry muffins and the sweet scent of Grace's warm skin. Especially at her throat when her pulse runs fast.
I inhale through my mouth instead, determined to show my gentlemanly side instead of throwing her onto the bed and burying my face in her neck to breathe her in at my leisure.
After all, I'd specifically ordered romance. I'll survive the rose bombardment as long as it makes her happy, even if I'd expected atmosphere and not a goddamned botanical garden.
Grace stands by the dining table, her back half-turned to me. The overhead light catches the curve of her jaw. The dip of her collarbone. The way her blonde hair falls across the nape of her neck, exposing a strip of skin tantalizing me for the last twenty minutes.
It won't be untouched for long.
As long as you don't screw it up.
I clench my jaw. Fenris had been blessedly, uncharacteristically silent…
You were monologuing. I got bored.
