The oil was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, gleaming like amber in the afternoon light. Naked, Aelin stood before it, unable to reach for the bottle. It was what Arobynn wanted—for her to think of him as she rubbed the oil into every inch of her skin. For her breasts, her thighs, her neck to smell like almond—his chosen scent. His scent, because he knew that a Fae male had come to stay with her, and all signs pointed to their being close enough for scent to matter to Rowan. She closed her eyes, steeling herself.
